Turnabout Honeymoon
by 6GunSally
Summary: Chapter 40... Finally, the whip arrives... Grab a sandwich and a snuggie-this is a long story (new readers)... Thanks to all returning readers (I means a lot that you keep coming back!) Reviews are greatly appreciated-I'm kind of feeling around blindly... TURNABOUT HONEYMOON Join us in exploring the agony and the... uh... more agony of Miles Edgeworth...
1. The Aftermath

_**Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).**_

_**This story is set between Turnabout Goodbyes and Rise from the Ashes (episode 4 and 5 of Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney), although there are extensive flashbacks. Some Spoilers, although this game is like super old… also there are few hints at things that occur much later in the series.**_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**The Aftermath**

_"Miles," the teacher said, and she made him stand in front of the entire class and introduce himself. He was arriving a month behind, but his father had told him not to worry, as this would only be temporary until the winter break started and he could be transferred to a private school._

_ Miles wore his best jacket, a burgundy coat with the emblem from his old school. No one in this new school wore uniforms, so it didn't matter that his jacket had the old emblem. It didn't matter—but still—all of the other kids looked at him strangely and were not inclined to speak with him before the teacher came, though they talked loudly amongst themselves._

_ Now he was forced to stand in front of them and tell them about himself, which he really did not want to do. Miles looked at the teacher, she nodded and smiled sweetly, silently goading him into his task. Well, Miles thought begrudgingly, it wouldn't do to upset the teacher._

_ "Good Morning," he said, "My name is Miles Edgeworth."_

_ "Where are you from?" the teacher asked._

_ "The city," Edgeworth said, knowing that the suburban town would need no more explanation than that. He stared out at the other kids and they stared back at him._

_ "Um," Edgeworth continued, "I'm very pleased to meet all of you."_

_ "Thank you Miles," the teacher said, finally coming to his rescue and letting him escape to the safety of his desk. Miles was blushing full red from his forehead to the collar of his shirt._

* * *

Miles Edgeworth awoke in his flat to the yellow light of morning and the hot solid weight of Pess on his leg. He rubbed his eyes and slid carefully out from under the big dog so as not to wake her. He'd planned on sleeping in, and though it was still earlier than he would have liked—he could still claim he'd slept in. Miles stretched and got up to go to the toilet.

He washed his hands afterward and then washed his face and for good measure he brushed his teeth. Perfection was something to strive for in all things—so he'd been taught. He stared into the mirror while the froth from his electric toothbrush continued to build and drip into the sink. The face glared back, eyes cold and unrelenting. Miles spat into the sink, he hated that face.

He'd been allowed a personal leave following the trial. After all, it had been a big trial and it occurred over the winter holidays where the scandal loving public had the leisure of watching the trial unfold while caught in the lull between the hustle of Christmas and the New Year. Miles buttoned his shirt and shoved the tails into his khakis—no, he didn't have to work today—but that only meant he had other errands to take care of.

His butler, Edmund Wellington, was waiting in the kitchen with a paper and hot water for tea—which he started to steep as soon as Miles exited his bedroom. Pess barked once, announcing her departure from the bed, and followed Miles into the kitchen. Miles sat down at the small breakfast nook and accepted his tea and the paper with a slight nod.

Mr. Wellington placed tray on the table before him, toast and an egg-white omelet—no doubt painstakingly prepared to the exacting specifications of Mile's diet. Perfection—after all—was something to strive for in all things.

"Did you sleep well, sir?" Mr. Wellington said. He always asked and Miles always gave him the same made up answer to placate him.

"Yes, very well—" Miles set down his paper startled. He _had_ slept well—after fifteen years of nightmares; fifteen years of the same haunting scream, of the dread and fear—he'd slept dreamlessly and content. Miles allowed himself a smile and even Wellington seemed a little surprised. Miles lifted his cup to the man, "Very well indeed, Mr. Wellington."

"What's happening in the world, today?" Miles continued and the old butler raised his eyebrows, Miles was never one to waste time with small talk.

"Err," Wellington said, "Well, Mr. Edgeworth, there's a report about stalkers on the Internet. Apparently, a victim escaped and went to the police."

Miles lifted one eyebrow and then buried his face in the paper again—at least he didn't have to go into work for the next few days—the only thing bigger than DL-6 would be something like this.

Wellington retreated to some other chore in the house and Miles looked at Pess who was sitting at his knee and staring up at him expectantly. Miles glanced around quickly to be sure Wellington was indeed gone and tipped his plate toward the floor so the dog could lap up the omelet. Miles chuckled at Pess and finished his tea.

Miles wasn't terribly hungry this morning. He'd spent the evening with his attorney, Phoenix Wright, and the motley entourage that had seemed to build over the course of the trial. The restaurant was not terribly fancy—not the kind of place he would have found on his own—but it was comfortable and the food adequate. Miles couldn't remember being around so many people that wanted only the contribution of his company—and nothing more was mentioned about the trial.

The girl Maya was Phoenix's assistant and some sort of gourmand. Miles was struck by the cheerful way she suggested platter after platter and food was passed around and shared among all. He couldn't remember everything he'd eaten—and he was sure he didn't want to—most of the group left after the meal, slapping Miles on the back and congratulating him. It was good to be among friends.

He was coerced somehow into following Maya and Phoenix back to Wright&Co. Law Offices. Then Maya fell asleep and he was alone with his lawyer. No, it was Phoenix, his childhood friend. Phoenix wanted to talk to him about his past. About things Miles didn't want to talk about or dredge up—and Miles left angry. Miles was so angry he walked all the way to his building—and when he arrived it was several hours later, very near morning.

"I don't understand what he wants from me," Miles told Pess. The big dog stopped licking the empty plate and looked up at her master. She wagged her tail and her great black tongue lolled. "But he says things that make me… Emotional… I just don't understand."

Miles reached down to scratch Pess behind the ears, "I made an appointment with my physician before I was arrested. I suppose it's just as well that I've been given this leave."

Pess whimpered.

"Did you miss me?" Miles asked, "Really, it was only a few days."

Pess whimpered again and lifted one of her big paws, Miles took the paw in his hand.

"Pess, I promise we will go somewhere nice this afternoon. Just not Gourd Lake."

Miles let go of Pess's paw and stood, "Mr. Wellington," he called, "I'm getting my coat, would you make a cup I can take with me?"

"Very good, sir," Wellington said, appearing out of nowhere, "Will you be returning for luncheon?"

"No," Miles said, "I don't think so."

"Very well sir," Wellington said.

"I will be home this afternoon," Miles had moved to the closet in the lobby and was sliding on a black wool pea coat. Pess followed him wagging her tail expectantly, "Later, my friend," Miles said bending to pet her, "Well go out somewhere nice."

* * *

_"I hate it here," Miles said, arms crossed and pouting, "All the kids in that school are stupid and strange."_

_ "Miles," His father scolded. He kept his eyes on the road while he drove, "It's only the first day. You ought to give them a chance. You'll be at this school whether you like it or not until the semester ends. Don't you think it'll be better if you tried to enjoy it?"_

_ "I guess," Miles said, unconvinced._

_ His father chuckled and smiled at the boy. It was only a glance, he didn't take his focus from the road, not since the accident. Miles was frowning, knees drawn up to his chin, watching the large houses with their yards and fences. Each with their own attempt to look unique from the others—by decoration, or lack of—but they seemed more the same for all the effort._

_ "Will we still be able to visit mom?" Miles asked and the car slowed as his father pulled his foot away from the gas pedal._

_ "Of course," he said adjusting his glasses while his eyes remained locked on the road._

_ "Even though we're so far away now?" the boy said._

_ "Miles," his father said, "We're not so very far from the city."_

_ The boy's frown deepened, but he said nothing. Whatever his father said, it did seem very far. They could not go every week like they had done. Not when his father settled and his clients came calling. They were already calling. The move was an excuse for a break. Miles didn't think they needed to move at all._

_ "I hate it here," Miles said softly, but his father wasn't listening._

* * *

Miles buttoned his shirt with more focus than was necessary, at least he avoided the nurse's gaze. The doctor hadn't come back in yet. Miles tucked the tails of his shirt into his pants and buckled his belt. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the exam table. The doctor came in whistling. Miles glared at him.

"I don't deserve that look," the doctor said, "You're a healthy young man."

"My headaches," Miles said.

"From what I've gathered, it's all stress related. You do work in a very stressful environment and all of your recent drama is not helping, I'm sure."

"Can't you give me something—"

"Mr. Edgeworth," the doctor said and put a hand on his shoulder, "There are more effective ways to deal with stress than drowning it analgesics and tranquilizers."

"Don't you want to sell medicine?" Miles said, suddenly incredulous.

"I would like to see you stay a healthy young man," the doctor said, "If you're stressed try and get some exercise, be active—"

"I'm already active," Miles said stubbornly and crossed his arms.

"Well," the doctor said, "This is the kind of thing you can't have too much of. You'll relieve stress and you'll sleep better. If you must have painkillers you can take aspirin—but even aspirin can damage your liver. Enjoy life while you're young."

Miles' glare went cold.

"I will prescribe some _Silenor_ for your sleep issues," the doctor said and held out an already written prescription slip, "I'm only giving you two weeks worth. Come back and let me know if there's any improvement."

Miles left the doctor's office dissatisfied.

"It's like I came in with back problems and they told me not to do back-flips and oh, here's some medicine for earaches," Miles complained to Pess after he'd returned from the pharmacy. Pess only wagged her tail excitedly.

It was awkward navigating the building's narrow stairwell with the big dog, and Miles was on the ninth floor near the top. But he wouldn't dare take the elevator. Even with the nightmares over there were things that would haunt him forever—scars that would never heal.

Once outside Pess was a ball of energy—about a hundred and ten pounds of energy—tugging on Miles' arm. Miles was all but running to keep up with her. Pess tried to turn into the Gourd Lake Nature park entrance and Miles was forced to call her to heel. It was still too soon. Expose Park wouldn't be a problem, it was much further away, but apparently he needed the exercise anyway.

They weren't halfway to the park before Miles' cheeks and nose were red from the cold. It was quiet in the street as it was pretty close to the New Year holidays and most other people had families to spend the day with. Miles kept his glare fixed in place anyway to discourage any of the few others out and about from talking with him.

There were several police officers in the park, but that wasn't strange. Miles focused his glare on Pess's happily wagging tail so as to avoid seeing anyone he might know. They continued walking until Miles found a grassy area devoid of people and he led his dog into the center of the field. When Miles knelt to remove her leash Pess licked his face and Miles laughed and wiped his face with a sleeve.

"Hey!" Miles put a hand in his coat pocket and pulled out a baseball, "Look what I have."

Pess's ears perked up and she barked once and ran away waiting for Miles to throw it. It was very nice to be out on a winter day and brave the bite of cold on his nose and cheeks just to see his dog run after the silly ball. Pess brought it back enthusiastically and when she reached Miles she stood—Pess was nearly as tall standing as he was—until Miles took the ball from her mouth and threw it again.

This time when Pess returned, Miles ran, letting the big dog chase him. He was smiling now, and for once he didn't have to force his emotion. Pess caught him and knocked him down begging for the ball to be thrown again. Miles stood breathless and grinning happily and picked up the ball.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth!" Miles recognized the voice and frowned at the ball in his hand. He didn't turn around, maybe the fool would think it was someone else and go away. Pess growled and bolted before Miles new what was going on.

"Pess! Heel!" Miles shouted. It was too late, Pess had Detective Gumshoe by the leg and was shaking her head vigorously. Detective Gumshoe was screaming bloody murder.

Miles ran toward them and took Pess by the collar, speaking softly to the big dog.

Detective Gumshoe was still sobbing into the grass.

"Are you hurt, Detective?" Miles said, not bothering to hide the note of long-suffering in his tone.

"That's a big dog!" Detective Gumshoe said, "I thought you said were getting a puppy?"

Miles' glare narrowed, "That was two years ago, Detective. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to say hi, sir," Gumshoe bent and reached out to pet Pess and the big dog growled menacingly. Gumshoe shuddered and retracted his arm.

"Heh," Gumshoe said.

"Hello," said Miles with a disdainful drawl.

"Uh," Gumshoe said, "Happy New Year too."

"Is that all Detective?"

"Well, did you hear about the Honeymoon Killers?"

"I saw a bit in the paper," Miles said, "Should I be concerned?"

"It's pretty heinous," Gumshoe said and rubbed the back of his head in a nervous tic, "The department's running us ragged."

"Ah," Miles said and he hooked Pess's leash back onto her collar, "Then I should let you get back to work, lest they use this distraction as an excuse to cut your pay."

"Oh, right," Gumshoe said with a slight frown, "Enjoy your leave, sir!"

"Thank you," Miles said, "I plan to."

"You need it," Gumshoe said and Miles turned and walked away from him, wondering what he meant by that.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **_

_So begins my first story in Phoenix Wright land. Yeah, I've played all the games through Miles Edgeworth: Investigations, but I always liked this point in the game. Where Phoenix saves Miles from not one but two murder accusations. Sorry if the story starts out a little slow—it will pick up—but it's planned for about 20 chapters now._

_I LOVE Phoenix/Miles—however—I simply cannot write slash, so don't expect it here. This is also going to be a very Edgie-centric story, so if you don't like him—sorry. (But I hope you'd give him a chance)_

_Updated: I made it chapter twelve in spite of the lack of interest-oh well, I'm enjoying it at least... As promised, I wanted to cut extra text from the top of all chapters-thought disclaimers apply throughout. I also tried to fix the spelling/grammar errors and some of the __inconsistencies in the story._


	2. Little Sister

**Chapter 2**

**Little Sister**

_"It's your turn Miles," the teacher said and waved the boy up to the batter's box. Miles had done this before and he knew that he wasn't very good at it. He dragged his feet to the plate and accepted the bat from the pot bellied P.E. teacher._

_ It didn't help that Miles was already having a bad day. His lunch deposit for the month had been stolen and he didn't want the teacher to find out. So he'd been interviewing the other kids and they were all very rude about it._

_ "Move this foot back," the P.E. teacher said, kicking Mile's feet into place. He grabbed the bat and twisted it until he was happy with Miles' stance. Miles tried very hard to maintain his glare—he really wanted to cry. Why did they insist on trying to ridicule him?_

_ "Gimme a practice swing," the teacher said. Miles swung the bat with his eyes closed._

_ "Not bad the teacher said, but you need to have your eyes on the ball when you swing, so don't close them," he said to Miles and the boy reset his stance._

_ "Alright Simon," the teacher said to the boy pitching and Simon threw the ball. Miles swung the bat and he felt the ball connect—sending something like a shock through the bat into his palms—and he felt relieved. Miles gaped as his ball soared over the infield and bounced into the grass behind the shortstop to where the girls were standing in the outfield gossiping._

_ "Run stupid!" Another boy yelled—maybe it was Simon—and Miles ran as fast as he could. He almost knocked down the girl on first base and she glared at him._

_ "Keep going! The kids in the dugout yelled and Miles brought up his fists and put his head down and ran. Even before he reached second the other kids yelled for him to go home._

_ "Miles! Go Home! Miles! Miles!" the kids were chanting._

_ He rounded third and pick up speed, sprinting so hard into home that he ran into the fence behind the catcher. Everyone cheered, even the kids on the other team. Suddenly, Miles was having a better day. Miles couldn't wait to tell his father. _

* * *

Miles Edgeworth awoke early, completed his morning ritual and crossed the dining room of the enormous flat to sit at the breakfast nook off of the kitchen near the window. Like always, Wellington had his tea and a paper waiting for him. Miles was quietly perusing the paper when Wellington brought out his tray—oatmeal today—and Miles stared at the bowl and its contents with a frown and turned a page of his newspaper.

"Did you sleep well, sir?" Wellington said.

"Very well, Wellington, thank you," Miles said without looking up from his paper.

Pess was at his knee wagging her tail. Miles peeked around his paper and gave the dog a meaningful look and pointed at Wellington. The butler was moving around the kitchen returning cups and saucers to their rightful places. Miles heard him strike up a conversation with the cook. He took his bowl and held it out for Pess.

Miles took a second cup of tea and carried his paper into the library. He was surprised to find a few stacks of mail on his desk. Mostly cards he'd missed at Chistmas—having spent that day in jail. Miles took all the Christmas cards and put them to the side. There was only one actual letter in his pile of mail, from Franziska, and he frowned. He still hadn't called her—and the verdict had been out for nearly two full days.

Miles set his letter from Franziska back on the desk and grabbed up the newspaper again. The reason he'd come here was to take a clipping and set it with a new file. A habit he began while he was still in training. Something he remembered his father doing.

He flattened the paper on the desk and read it once more. The count had risen to seven—seven murders—and the police were expecting more. The media was in an uproar. At least a case like this would be easy for the prosecution.

Miles cut out the article and put it in an unused manila folder. He dated the folder, Dec 30 2016, and labeled it 'Honeymoon'. He added it to a file in his desk. Miles locked the drawer and picked up Franziska's letter.

"Wellington," he called, coming out of the library, "I'm going to take Pess out for a walk."

"It's early sir," Wellington said, "and you had her out last night."

Miles frowned. Pess had come up to him wagging her tail. She didn't look tired.

"We aren't going very far," Miles said, "and I don't often have the time to spend with her. I think I owe it to her, Wellington."

"Very good, sir," Wellington said, "Will you be home for luncheon?"

"I think so," Miles said, "We're only going for a short walk, and it's early yet."

Miles left the flat and tackled the stairwell with the big dog; ambling nine flights of stairs to the ground floor. Once on the street Pess walked beside him head down and tongue lolling.

"You've gotten lazy, girl," Miles said and Pess picked up her great head only for a moment before putting her nose back to the ground.

This early in the morning the crowds were sparse, those who did have to work were already at work, schools were still on break, and it was chilly enough to warrant hiding indoors. Pess barked once and Miles looked up to find they had reached an intersection.

When the light turned green, they crossed and Miles pulled the letter out of his pocket and opened it.

"Dear little brother," it read, and Miles rolled his eyes. She was five years younger than him but insisted on calling him that.

"_Merry Christmas! I trust you are well? Papa tells me you've lost your second case, and to the same lawyer too. All your genius and you've already met your match. My poor Miles Edgeworth. Well, little brother, little dear, do not fear. I have decided to join my Papa in America after the New Year. I grow bored with Germany, and it's quite obvious that you need my help. I've written to Papa, I'm sure he's told you by now. Be sure you find me the best French Restaurant in town for my first night. I will expect the best reception on my arrival. Yours, Franziska."_

Miles frowned at the letter in his hand. Pess whimpered, and only then did Miles realize he'd stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He folded the letter and shoved it back into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and dialed his adoptive sister, letting Pess pull him along.

The phone rang for what seemed an inordinate amount of time and then the German Vodafone voicemail service answered. Miles hung up and dialed again. The third time he called, she answered.

"Edgeworth! _Sie sind ein arschloch ist! Ich hasse dich_!" she sounded like she'd been crying. "Oh, Papa!"

"Franziska—"

She launched into a tirade of angry German so loud and shrill he had to pull the phone away from his ear. When the screaming subsided he put the phone reluctantly back to his ear.

"Franziska, I'm sorry about—"

"How could you?" She sobbed over the phone, "How could you? After everything he's done for you! He took you in! He made sure you had the best training! The best schools! He made you what you are! You would've been nothing without him! Nothing! He should've left you there in that orphanage to rot! You vile, ungrateful, selfish betrayer!"

Miles was too shocked to reply. After a minute to let the words sink in he hung up on her. He'd expected her to be upset—but he didn't think she would blame him. After all, the entire affair was her father's plan from the start. Miles had nothing to do with it aside from being framed for Hammond's murder. Manfred Von Karma was the one who'd underestimated Miles' counsel. Still, it stung. Especially coming from her.

His phone buzzed and vibrated in his pocket but he didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Miles bit the inside of his lip and urged Pess forward. Pess sat down on the sidewalk and stared up at him. The phone started buzzing again and Miles closed his eyes to check the caller. Franziska again. Miles dropped the phone back into his pocket.

"Come on," Miles said, "We shouldn't linger here."

Pess barked at him and whimpered again. Miles' phone started to buzz again. While he fumbled with it in his pocket, Pess bolted and half-dragged Miles into the nature park. When he managed to regain control of the big dog he stopped to glare at the bare trees around him. He'd accidentally hung up on the caller.

"Where've you brought me?" Miles said.

Pess barked, and Miles' shoulders slumped. The park was empty and he sat down on the nearest bench and rubbed his temples. Aspirin indeed, he thought—recalling the doctor's advice. Pess put her paws on his lap and nudged him with her damp nose. Miles put a hand on her head and stroked her ears, frowning thoughtfully. He dug out his phone with the other hand and screened his recent calls.

Franziska, Franziska, Phoenix Wright. What might he want? Miles wondered, the trial was over, so was their partnership. They wouldn't meet again until the next trial that pitted the two of them against each other-whenever that might be. Miles stared at the phone in his hand and then dialed the number.

"Wright&Co. Law Offices, this is Maya Fey speaking," Maya's high, girlish voice answered.

"This is Edgeworth," Miles said. His recent spat with Franziska had left him curt—perhaps more so than he usually was.

"Oh, Mister Edgeworth," Maya said, unfazed, "I was calling because we still hadn't settled—"

"Didn't we?" Miles said.

"Um, no," Maya said, still cheerful in spite of his interruption, "So I was wondering if you could come by the office—"

"I can come now," Miles said, "I was walking my dog, so if you don't mind my having her with me, I can be over shortly."

"Oh, well," Maya seemed shy suddenly, "Well, Nick has a client right now, and I don't know how long—"

"A client?" Miles was surprised, Phoenix seemed more inclined to take the rest of his holiday.

"Yes, Mr. Edgeworth," Maya said, and she perked up again, "Plus I got him this awesome blotter for his desk—so he could be more professional—so if you would, I can make an appointment and he can write it in there."

"When would be a good time?" Miles almost grinned—Phoenix Wright? A professional?

"Uh how about—?" Maya stopped mid-sentence and he heard her lay the receiver on the desk.

"Miss Fey?" Miles was annoyed, but he waited. The line rattled when she came back on.

"You said you were nearby, Mr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"I'm near the entrance to the Nature Park at Gourd Lake."

"I'll come meet you in five minutes."

"I don't think—" Miles was shocked when she hung up on him. He looked at Pess, she gave him a doggy smile, tongue lolling.

"I suppose we should wait for the girl," Miles said and Pess barked at him.

Maya took longer than the five minutes she'd promised and he scolded her for it. Maya was already frowning before he spoke. Miles almost felt guilty-almost.

"Now," Miles said, "I don't walk around with my pockets full of cash, will you accept a check?"

Maya looked as if she'd cry and she sat on the bench beside him. Miles didn't know what to do, so he crossed his arms and glared at the trees.

"If a check won't do—"

"He kicked me out of the office," Maya said.

Miles frowned.

"Those men came in and they went in the back and then he yelled at me to leave," Maya said.

"Why didn't you say anything over the phone?" Miles said.

"I don't know what happened," Maya said.

"Let's go," Miles said, "That doesn't sound right, Wright may be in danger."

"Mr. Edgeworth!" Maya said, "Do you think so?"

Miles only gave her bland look and shrugged.

"I thought maybe he was tired of me. Because I'm not as useful as..." She trailed off.

"Let's just do this," Miles said.

Miles stood and not wanting to get too involved in whatever spat Phoenix might be having with his assistant, made for the park entrance with Pess at his heel.

"Eh?" Maya said surprised, "I-is that your dog?"

"Obviously I'm holding the leash," Miles called back without stopping.

"He looks like a lion!"

"She," Miles corrected, "Come along, let's see what trouble Wright's gotten into this time."

* * *

_"Well, Phoenix skipped P.E., didn't he?" Simon said and Phoenix glared back at him from where he stood in a corner of the classroom. "Obviously, he was up to something."_

_ "I didn't take anything!" Phoenix said. Miles stared at the dark haired boy. Phoenix's face was flushed and angry, his arms crossed._

_ "Then why'd you skip class?" this from a girl standing just behind Miles, outside of his peripheral vision. Miles frowned, he didn't expect this to happen._

_ "I told you, I was sick!" Phoenix said. He was very close to crying._

_ "What's going on here?" The teacher said when she entered the room. None of the children were in their seats and they gathered around Phoenix like a mob out for blood._

_ "I was investigating," Miles told her, "To find out who took my lunch money."_

_ She smiled at him, "My dear," she said, "Did you find anything?"_

_ "Phoenix did it," one of the others said._

_ "Phoenix didn't do it," Miles said, "and I can prove it!"_

_ "Come on, everyone go back to your seats," the teacher said, "we have to get on with our lesson."_

_ "Miles keeps asking everyone who stole his money, and we all think Phoenix did it," A mousy blonde girl spoke up from the front of the class._

_ "There's no evidence that Phoenix, did it," Miles said._

_ "I didn't take it," Phoenix hadn't moved from where he'd been standing in the back corner of the classroom. His voice cracked and faltered and he started to cry._

_ "Tell you what," the teacher said, "We can present this case in front of a judge tomorrow. But right now we have to finish going over fractions."_

_ "The judge'll find you guilty," Simon said to Phoenix._

_ Phoenix was trying very hard to stifle the sobs that just kept coming._

_ "It's not fair," Miles heard him say between sobs._

_ Well, Miles thought, I'll show them. I'll defend him in court and we'll find the real culprit. Just like my dad._

* * *

"Nick!" Maya shouted when they entered the small office. Phoenix met them at the entrance, he was unhurt but he seemed a little irritated. Then he looked at Miles and his large brown eyes widened.

"What?" Miles said, glaring again.

"What are you doing here?" Phoenix said and then he saw Pess and almost fell against the desk, "What is that?"

"Miss Fey was worried abut you," Miles said, "I was nearby, so I came."

"Thanks for the consideration," Phoenix replied with forced buoyancy, "But I don't need anything."

"I can settle my account while I'm here," Miles said. He moved toward the counter and pulled out his checkbook.

"If you want," Phoenix said.

Miles gave him a tight-lipped smile, "Tell me you don't need the money, Wright."

Phoenix lifted his chin and crossed his arms, "We get by."

Maya was watching their exchange with her eyes wide and mouth agape, "Why are you two so prickly? Everyone was friendly two days ago."

Phoenix glanced at her quickly before turning his glare back to Miles, "He's prickly, not me."

Miles was much better at glaring and he paused to stare Phoenix down before handing the check to him. Phoenix took it and put it into his shirt pocket without looking at the amount. "She said you had a client."

"I'm not taking any new clients," Phoenix said, "eh, Maya, can you get coffee?"

"But Nick—"

"Please Maya," Phoenix said and when she left the room, he relaxed his stare. It didn't suit him anyway, Miles thought.

"Edgeworth," Phoenix started, "I'm sorry about the other night."

Miles raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"You left, angry," Phoenix frowned, "So whatever I… I wasn't trying to offend—"

"I didn't think you were," Miles said, effectively stopping the other man from going there again.

"You'll stay for coffee?" Phoenix asked.

"No," Miles said, "I'm going back home. I didn't mean to be gone this long."

"Take care then," Phoenix said.

"You too," Miles said, but before he could turn to face the door, Phoenix put a hand on his shoulder. Miles glared at him—he didn't like to be touched.

Phoenix pulled his hand away and offered it instead as a handshake. Miles hesitated before clasping his hand.

"See you in court," Miles said. Phoenix only smiled.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **_

_Woot! Chapter 2—R&R is very welcome! (I'm watching Foreign Movies while I write this—so I'm getting a little mixed up at times)_

_What kind of dog did I give Edgeworth? Well, I heard it was a big dog—and since I was a huge fan of Belle and Sebastian as a kid, I opted for a Chow-Chow/Great Pyrenees mix. Now that's a big dog!_

_Updated: I forgot the date... but it's been updated._


	3. New Year's Eve

**Chapter 3**

**New Year's Eve**

_Miles sat alone in the cafeteria and stared at his tray. He'd done it. He'd proven the Phoenix boy's innocence. He was a great Defense Attorney—just like his father. But, somehow, everything in the school had gone back to the way it was before. No one seemed to understand the significance of what'd happened in the class trial that morning. Miles picked up his fork and poked it into something brown and squashy oozing into something white and squashy._

_ Dad had given him a second lunch deposit and told Miles not to worry about it. Miles thought he knew who the culprit was, but he left it alone._

_ "Hey," it was the Phoenix boy, "Is anyone sitting here?"_

_ "No," Miles said, a little surprised. No one ever sat next to him in the cafeteria._

_ "Are you going to eat that?" Another boy, Larry, asked. Larry sat next to Phoenix. Miles looked from one to the other, but he said nothing. He continued to push the squashy things around the tray. He speared a floret of broccoli._

_ Miles wasn't overly fond of broccoli, but at least he could tell what it was. Larry took the edge of his tray and turned it to get his attention._

_ "Are you going to eat that?" he asked again._

_ "No," Miles said, "I don't even know what it is."_

_ Phoenix laughed, "It's Salisbury steak. It's good."_

_ Miles never got a chance to confirm Phoenix's claim, as Larry had wolfed it down without additional warning._

_ "Simon said you got a home run at P.E. yesterday," Phoenix said._

_ Miles shrugged, "I got lucky."_

_ Phoenix grinned at him, "I'll bet you're a baseball star at your old school."_

_ Miles blushed a little, "No."_

_ "What school did you go to before you came here?"_

_ "I went to East Wood," Miles said._

_ "Never heard of it," Larry said._

_ "How do you like it here?" Phoenix asked._

_ "It's okay," Miles said._

_ "So," Phoenix said, "Larry and I are going to start a biker gang. Do you have your own bicycle?"_

_ "Yes," Miles said._

_ "So you want to join our gang?"_

_ Miles looked at Phoenix and then Larry. He frowned a little and said, "My dad says I shouldn't be in a gang."_

_ "It's not a gang like that," Larry said. He was poorly dressed, thin and scrappy. Miles decided Larry must know a lot about gangs._

_ "Think of it as more of a club," Phoenix said._

_ "Okay," Miles said. _

* * *

Miles Edgeworth set a modest incline and brisk pace on the treadmill. The gym in the building had all the treadmills along a mirrored wall. Miles frowned at his reflection for a moment before spreading his newspaper on the console.

"Oh Miles! Miles darling!"

Miles lifted his head and glared at her reflection in the mirror before turning back to his paper. It was 6B again. 6B liked to follow him around and talk about stupid things.

"Good morning," Miles said without any of the usual cheer that went along with such a greeting, still glaring at his newspaper.

6B was hovering behind his machine shooting coy glances at his reflection in the mirror. Miles cranked the speed on the treadmill until the stomp of his feet and the whir of the machine drowned out her voice, effectively eliminating all risk of conversation.

He rolled up his newspaper and held it in his hand to prevent it from falling under his feet and tripping him. 6B's reflection waved at him a few times and she shouted something. Miles motioned to her in the mirror that he couldn't hear, and went on running—he was determined to keep running until she disappeared. Miles had half a mind jump off the treadmill and run outside where she couldn't catch him.

But it was raining this morning. 6B was very determined today—more than usual. She got on the machine next to him and started power walking next to him, swinging her arms. She was still trying to get his attention. Miles cursed himself for not bringing music and headphones. He raised the speed and the whir of the machine grew louder.

6B got off of the treadmill next to him and he surreptitiously watched as she went to the back corner of the small fitness center and whipped out her cell phone. When she was done on the phone she just stood there gazing dreamily in his direction. Miles turned his gaze to the console of the machine and frowned at the little red dots moving around the notional track on the screen. He should've known they'd be off of work, should've known they'd be about en force-especially in the building's fitness center.

A movement caught his eye—6B was waving at 3C and 3D who'd just arrived. 5A showed up not very much later. Miles took a drink from his water bottle and grimaced at his reflection sweating in the mirror. Somehow the ladies club had moved into the circuit training area immediately behind him. He focused on the console so as not to make contact with any of them-not even in the mirror.

Miles had only planned to warm up on the machine, but now it seemed he was surrounded. The treadmill was the only safe place for him in the fitness center. 3D and 5A were tugging half-heartedly at an elastic strap mounted on the wall. 3C was sitting on one of those big plastic blow up balls pretending to be stretching. Miles was starting to find the gathering mildly offensive. They were like vultures descending on a corpse and he was the only pile of dead meat for miles. Miles' was certain that his sweating had less to do with his running and more to do with the cold fear that gripped him in this den of ravenous cougars.

Miles startled and almost tripped when someone grabbed his arm. It was only Wellington. Miles planted his feet to either side of the belt and looked at the man.

"Mr. Edgeworth," Wellington said, "You have a phone call from the Office of the Chief Prosecutor."

Miles was still breathing hard, "Did you bring it here?"

"Sir?" Wellington replied.

"The phone?"

"She called the house phone, sir," Wellington said.

Miles dragged a hand over his forehead in exasperation, "You'll need to keep them away from me."

"Sir?" Wellington said looking around the gym and only just noticing the ladies. Miles bolted from the safety of the treadmill and ran pell-mell toward the stairs.

"Good morning, Ladies," Miles heard Wellington say before the door to the stairwell closed itself.

He stopped on the third floor landing to catch his breath and then gazed discouraged at the next six flights rising up higher. Miles frowned and climbed the stairs at a steadier pace. Sometimes he wished it was easier to get over his elevator anxiety.

"Why didn't you just take the elevator?" Chief Prosecutor Skye said on the phone.

Miles made a face, "You know why I don't take the elevator."

"How is your leave, Edgeworth?"

"Fine," he said still brusque.

The Chief Prosecutor laughed, "I'm sure you don't know what to do with yourself."

"What can I do for you, Chief?" Miles said.

"Our department's having a meeting at one-thirty, I'm sorry to do this, but it concerns you, and you ought to be present."

"One-thirty?" Miles confirmed as he jotted it on a notepad near the phone.

"Yes, but I'd like you to come in at noon, if you can," Chief Skye said.

"I can," Miles said.

"Just come to my office around noon," Chief Skye said, "I have something I want to talk to you about in private."

"I'll see you at noon," Miles hung up the phone and went back to his room to shower.

* * *

_It was a long drive into the city to the cemetery, even via the freeway. Dad didn't talk much and Miles didn't feel the need to bother him. He was holding the flowers so they didn't roll around in the car and get ruined._

_ "Your teachers say you are doing well in school," Dad said, suddenly breaking the silence as he navigated the car off of the freeway._

_ Miles shrugged and watched the city that slid into view as they left the ramp._

_ "She told me about your trial," Dad smiled but he didn't look at Miles._

_ "I knew Phoenix didn't do it," Miles said, "So I couldn't let him get in trouble. It wouldn't be right."_

_ "Right," Dad said, "Is Phoenix the boy who came over yesterday?"_

_ "Yeah," Miles said, "He has his own biker club, and he said I could join too."_

_ "Oh?"_

_ "If that's okay with you, Dad," Miles said, "I don't want you to be at home all alone."_

_ Dad chuckled and said, "I'm glad you're making friends at school, Miles."_

_ Miles shifted in his seat and fumbled with the rattling plastic from the flowers, "Yeah, I guess."_

_ His father parked the car near the manicured entrance to the cemetery. The wall was made of stone with wrought iron worked at the top and a gate of the same intricately formed iron painted black. His father took the flowers from him when they got out of the car and started to walk up the tidy dirt path that led through the sections of graves._

_ It was sunny and the trees that lined the path cast swaying shadows along their way so that the sunlight flashed as they moved under the trees. Miles looked up at his father, the man was solemn and withdrawn. Miles guiltily thought it would be nice to go out biking as the weather was clear but not very hot._

_ His father put a big hand on his shoulder as they turned off of the main path and wound past the graves of other people. Some of them had candles or teddy bears or flags or flowers. Some of them looked as if they'd never been visited. The flowers on his mother's grave had wilted, but not to the point they'd become black or desiccated. They tried to come every week to bring her new ones but they had been too busy last week._

_ Miles took the wilted flowers from her vase and his father replaced them with the new ones. Miles took the plastic and wrapped up the old flowers while his father knelt, head down and whispered to the cold headstone. Miles only frowned._

_ A bird in the tree chirped and caught his eye, and Miles watched it hop around in the tree until his father stood back up and took him by the shoulder again. Miles cradled the dead flowers in his arms._

_ "Dad," Miles said, "I'm sorry."_

_ "For what?" Dad said._

_ Miles frowned up at his father, "I just—I don't feel sad anymore."_

_ His father squeezed his shoulder and they continued to the main path, pausing to deposit the dead flowers in the proper receptacle before returning to the car._

* * *

Miles buttoned the crisp white shirt before attaching the stays to his black socks. He pulled on his carefully pressed pants and fastened them before sliding on his shoes. The vest came on next and then the cravat and finally his jacket. Miles preferred to dress himself, a valet was just too intimate a luxury.

He stopped by the library to collect his briefcase and was stopped at the door by Wellington.

"Going to work, sir?"

"Yes, of course," Miles said handing the man his briefcase so that he could slide into his coat.

"I thought you'd be on holiday until after the New Year," Wellington said.

"I'm just going for a meeting, Mister Wellington," Miles said and he took his briefcase, "Thank you for that-earlier."

"It was my pleasure," Wellington said and his tone made Miles look at him directly.

"Um..." Miles said, "I'm going now. Have a good day."

"You too, sir," Wellington said still looking a little dreamy. Miles frowned at him, then he turned and exited the flat.

Miles pulled into the parking garage twenty minutes to noon, he still had twelve flights of stairs to climb. He put the parking stub between his teeth while he put his coat back on and grabbed his briefcase. The Lunchland lady glared at him from across the garage. Miles only spared her a glance as he opened the door to the stairwell.

Chief Skye was alone in her office when he entered. She waved at him to sit in front of her desk.

"You look well, Edgeworth," the Chief Prosecutor said.

"I am," Edgeworth said, "What did you need?"

"People have been talking. Since your acquittal," she said and paused to watch his reaction. Miles was staring at the edge of her desk, his expression was impassive. His gray eyes dark and endless in the shadows of his slightly furrowed brow.

"I thought you should be warned," she said.

Miles shrugged, "Let them say what they will. I only care about the truth."

"The truth, Edgeworth?" She said and she leaned forward and swept her red muffler over her shoulder. "Not Justice?"

Miles leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed scrupulously, "Chief Prosecutor Skye, are you accusing me of something?"

She smiled at him, "Edgeworth, you put Von Karma in jail. Are you planning to tear this whole department apart?"

"Phoenix Wright put Von Karma in prison," Miles said, "It's a wonder you don't ask him to join the Prosecutor's Office."

"You're not an innocent you know," Chief Skye said. Miles met her eyes and frowned. What was her purpose here?

"But we've taken care of you," she said, "We've been very good to you, and you've always been someone we—meaning Gant and myself—could count on. I don't want you going wild because Von Karma is gone. You're still young, Edgeworth—Miles… You can go further than your mentor ever went. As long as you stay true—"

"I understand, Chief," Miles said very formally and he stood taking his briefcase in one hand and his coat in the other.

"Where're you going?" Chief Skye gave him a strange look and for a moment he thought he could see her—really see her. A good heart, a strong woman that only wanted the best for those she took care of. The cold, distant Chief of Prosecutors quickly chased that woman away.

"You said we had a meeting at one-thirty?" Miles said and he glanced at his watch, "I'll be in my office."

"Edgeworth!" She stood and glared at him—at least that was something.

Miles was already at the door but he paused and turned to look at her.

"You'll take care, won't you?" Her blue eyes glinted icily.

"Always," he murmured and let himself out.

He went down the corridor to 1203. He dropped his briefcase and coat onto the sofa and went back to lock the door. Miles loosened his cravat and pulled off his suit jacket piling it on top of the briefcase and coat.

He rubbed his face, fingers lingering on the bridge of his nose before sliding through his hair. All of his problems, it seemed, were just beginning.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **_

_Wow… All the way to chapter 3! I've reposted chapter 1 after adjusting a few things that were suggested—so it will match the rest of the story. And finally—OF COURSE EDGEWORTH WEARS SHIRT STAYS!—he wears a cravat for cryin' out loud. _

_Updated: 8SEP2012_


	4. The High Prosecutor

**Chapter 4**

**The High Prosecutor**

_This week was culture week and the teacher wanted to talk about Japan today. Miles was very fond of Samurais so he didn't mind, and while she gave their history lesson, Larry drew pictures in his notebook and passed them to Phoenix who in turn passed them to Miles. Miles knew they weren't supposed to be doing it, but they were very cool pictures and—surprisingly—relevant._

_ "This one is you," Larry said to him and Miles took the recent picture and studied it. The warrior had a mask like a demon and a plume in his helmet. His sword was ridiculously large._

_ "It's like a Final Fantasy sword," Phoenix said, and Miles nodded even though he had no idea what Phoenix was talking about._

_ "Can I keep this?" Miles asked Larry._

_ "Um, sure," Larry said, "Do you want me to sign it? So when I'm like famous it'll be worth a lot of money."_

_ "Oh, okay," Miles said and he handed the drawing back and Larry scribbled his name in the corner of the drawing._

_ "Sign mine too," Phoenix said._

_ "Larry, Phoenix," the teacher scolded, "Pay attention."_

_ Miles frowned and ducked slightly. Larry and Phoenix both sat up straight and looked ahead—but their compliance only lasted a few minutes. Larry was drawing a dragon now._

_ "Oh," Miles whispered, "Make it breathe fire. No—flames—coming out of its mouth."_

_ They hung out at Larry's desk while he worked on his dragon picture during the break. Before class continued again each of them were given several pieces of thin colored paper, cut into perfect squares._

_ "Sweet," Larry said._

_ Miles frowned at the paper laid on the desk in front of him. Phoenix was examining a square of paper—holding it up to the light._

_ "Okay class, settle down," the teacher said, marking the end of break, "Now, we're going to learn about origami. Origami is the Japanese art of paper folding."_

_ She motioned at a few finished models displayed on her desk. She started telling them a story about a girl in Japan who was sick and folded cranes. Miles looked from the models on the teacher's desk to the square papers in front of him. Before the end of the teacher's story Larry was already finishing the last few folds on his own model._

_ "Ooh look!" one of the girls sitting nearby pointed at Larry's crane. He grinned and pulled on its tail and it flapped its wings. Miles stared at it amazed, and studied the flat square of paper again._

_ "Very good, Larry," the teacher said, "Now, we're going to fold a crane together. First I want you to take one of the papers you've been given and fold it in half diagonally."_

_ She held up the paper square that she'd folded into a triangle. Miles took one of the paper squares and very carefully lined up the corners._

_ "Now fold it over again like this," the teacher said, "and see how this opens up like this? You can open it with your finger—like this. Now you press it flat so that—"_

_ "Wait!" Miles said, "What did you do? Mine looks different."_

_ "Larry will you help Miles?" the teacher said._

_ Larry grabbed Miles' paper and stared at it, "What did you do?"_

_ "I did what she said," Miles said defensively._

_ The rest of the class continued with their models and Miles was left behind. To make him feel better, Larry took a fresh piece of paper and made a crane for Miles. Miles set it on the edge of his desk and glared at it. He took a fresh piece of paper._

_ "I want to make one myself," Miles said._

_ "Here," Phoenix said, "Copy what I do."_

_ Phoenix took him step by step through the folding of the crane. The class grew loud with chatter as the other kids made cranes on their own. Larry had moved on to models of other animals. While Miles looked around surreptitiously and frowned at the other kids._

_ "I don't get it," Miles said._

_ Phoenix showed him the fold again. And again._

_ The class made dozens of paper cranes and the teacher collected them and strung them along on a string. They had to write their names on their cranes. Miles struggled with the creased paper square in his hand—none of the cranes that had been hung up had his name written on it._

_ "You can write your name on one of mine," Larry said after the teacher let them go to lunch. Most of the class had already vacated the classroom._

_ "I'm going to make one on my own," Miles said stubbornly._

_ Larry shrugged and left after the others. Phoenix too had gone to lunch and Miles was alone in the classroom. Why couldn't he figure it out? His frustration grew._

_ Miles looked at the colored paper cranes strung across the classroom and sobbed. He crumpled his latest attempt and threw it on the floor and put his head on the desk and started to cry._

_ "Miles?"_

_ Miles looked up, Phoenix had returned to the classroom to find him._

_ "It's lunchtime," Phoenix said._

_ Miles didn't answer but he wiped his face with his sleeve. Phoenix didn't make fun of him._

_ "Are you that upset about it?" Phoenix said._

_ "I don't get it," Miles said, "How come I can't—"_

_ "It's okay, Miles…" Phoenix said, "It's just origami. I'll teach you how to make paper airplanes after school. Airplanes are way better than cranes."_

_ "I don't know why I can't…" Miles said._

* * *

Miles sat in his office with his hands over his face, he sobbed quietly. He shouldn't be here. Three days. It had been three days, since Von Karma had been convicted and he'd been acquitted. The truth had been liberating. But he still felt raw-too many things-too many truths had been revealed. It left him reeling, questioning everything that he was. Miles had the feeling suddenly like he was drowning, and he was getting too tired to swim anymore.

Someone knocked on the door. Miles wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat. He stood and took a deep breath to compose himself.

"Who is it?"

"Me, sir!" Miles frowned at Detective Gumshoe's gruff voice muffled on the other side of the heavy door. He hesitated and then unlocked it and let the man in. Gumshoe was carrying a box of case files. Miles went to the other side of the office and turned on his electric kettle.

"Mister Edgeworth, sir," Gumshoe said and walked in to plunk the box onto Miles' desk, "I heard you were in today, for the meeting."

Miles didn't say anything. He stared out at the overcast sky and waited for the water to boil.

"I thought you might be interested in the current cases, you could catch up before you went into the meeting."

Miles cleared his throat again, "Do you want tea?"

"Tea sir?" Gumshoe said with earnest surprise, "Sure. You're the best, Mr. Edgeworth."

Miles didn't turn to look at Gumshoe, but he bit his lip and smiled tight-lipped at the window. He had one loyal supporter. However simple or bumbling Gumshoe could be, Miles could always count on him. Miles cleared his throat again and the kettle clicked off, the water was boiling.

"There are paper cups over there," Miles said brusquely, "I won't have another cup smashed."

Gumshoe nodded and took a paper cup while Miles poured hot water over the leaves in the teapot. He closed the teapot and stared at it while it steeped.

"You doing alright, sir?" Gumshoe asked.

"I'm well Detective," Miles said.

"I knew you had that meeting, and I know how you don't like not being prepared, so I—"

"You said so already," Miles said and poured himself some tea before turning to pour some into Gumshoe's paper cup, "You came for the meeting? So Gant knows about this meeting too?"

"I don't know," Gumshoe said and burned his mouth on the tea. Miles watched him juggle the hot paper cup from hand to hand before setting it on the desk.

"The Chief said something about putting the Honeymoon case together, they want to go to trial on the second."

"I'm not touching the Honeymoon case," Miles said quietly.

"But it's a big case, sir!" Gumshoe's face lit up, "They said there would be cameras from the television station at the courthouse."

Miles barely managed to hide the horror that crossed his face.

"You'll look great on TV and you'll be famous!" Gumshoe continued.

"The Darke trial was a serial murder case," Miles said and finished his tea. He moved over to the box the detective had brought in, "I don't think I want to go through that again."

"You have to face your fears," Gumshoe said raising his fist in the air for emphasis, "Everyone is talking about you since the Hammond case and what happened to Von Karma. This is your chance to prove everyone wrong!"

Miles had the topmost case file open in his hands, he looked up at the detective, eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

"What?"

Miles closed the file and set it down. He smiled at the detective, "I don't care."

"You're the best there is," Gumshoe said, "That's why they talk."

Miles swallowed-he didn't deserve that kind of loyalty. He found suddenly that he didn't want to look at the man and turned his attention to the box. Gumshoe picked up the paper cup of hot tea and went to stare at the chessboard in the office. Miles finished sorting the files into piles and picked up one pile, "We should go."

"It's only for the prosecutors," Gumshoe said.

"I'll let you into 1202," Miles said, "I think Von Karma has cookies in there."

* * *

_"Come on Miles," Dad said and rushed him out of the house._

_ "But Dad," Miles said, "There's no school today. So why—?"_

_ "No school?" Dad looked panicked, "What—why not?"_

_ "Today is the first day of winter break," Miles said, "So I didn't have to wake up early at all but—"_

_ Dad just frowned and went back into the house. He pulled out his address book and thumbed through it and punched a number into the phone. Miles frowned up at him and set his school bag down._

_ "Can't I come to court with you?"_

_ Dad just put his fingers to his lips to silence him._

_ "Good morning, this is Greg Edgeworth," Dad paused and then said, "I'm sorry for waking you."_

_ Miles sulked and crossed his arms. Dad's brow furrowed and he glared at Miles and Miles straightened up._

_ "Well it's just—I have to be in court this morning and I need someone to watch Mi—" Dad was glaring at the wall now, "No, there's no school today."_

_ Miles startled when Dad hung up the phone and grabbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger._

_ "Dad I could—"_

_ "No Miles, some other time, maybe," Dad was already thumbing through his little address book again._

_ "Good morning, I hope I'm not disturbing you," Dad said into the phone, "This is Greg Edgeworth… I'm well, thank you. I'm sorry to do this but I have to be in court this morning and I don't have anyone to watch Miles… Will you? Thank you so much. I owe you. Thanks. We'll be along shortly if that's all right?"_

_ Miles frowned at his father, but Dad only smiled and picked up his briefcase and took Miles by the arm, "Problem solved, boy-o, no need to be upset."_

_ Miles left his schoolbag in the house and got into the car with his father and they drove to Phoenix's house. Miles didn't feel so bad anymore._

_ Phoenix's house was not as large as his father's house, it shared walls with the houses left and right of it—Dad called it a multiplex—and Phoenix only had a tiny square of yard out back. But it was enough for them to play, and that would be all right—if he couldn't go to court—it was enough to be with his friend._

_ Phoenix's mom met Dad in the drive, and Dad apologized that he was already late and had to run and he thanked her again._

_ "Miles!" Phoenix said when he went inside. Phoenix was still wearing pajamas and his mom was making breakfast. She told Miles to take off his shoes and his school jacket._

_ "How come you're visiting so early?" Phoenix said._

_ "My Dad had to work," Miles said._

_ "Oh, lawyer stuff, huh?" Phoenix laughed and then his mom sent him to go change out of his pajamas._

_ "Miles, hon, have you had breakfast?"_

_ "Um, no, ma'am," Miles said, "Dad thought I would be late for school. So we were rushed this morning."_

_ "It's good," she smiled sweetly at him, "You can help me set the table. Nick! You better wash your face, too!"_

_ "Mom!" Phoenix shouted back. Miles grinned and Phoenix's mom gave him forks and napkins to set out. Suddenly, Miles wished she could be his mom too._

* * *

Miles was glaring at the Chief Prosecutor. All of the prosecutors and several legal aids were gathered in the conference room for the meeting. A few, like Miles, had come in with case files under their arms. Chief Skye refused to meet his eye.

Miles uncrossed his arms and sat forward in his chair, hands on his knees. His brow was still furrowed.

"What do you mean, High Prosecutor? Shouldn't there be a discussion about it?" He said finally. Murmurs flitted about the room in agreement, though no one spoke up.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth," Chief Skye said continuing in a very forward tone that warned against arguing with her, "The decision was made much higher up. If you don't think you can handle the—"

"It's fine," Miles muttered and crossed his arms again. Winston Payne was sitting across from his rumpling pages on a yellow legal pad and grinding his teeth.

"Good," Chief Skye said, "You'll move your things to room 1202 by close of business tomorrow."

"Roger," Miles said sharply, still glaring at Winston's battered legal pad.

"On to our next order of business," Chief Skye moved on as if the news wasn't a big deal, "Criminal Affairs has attached a case number to the Honeymoon Stalkers case, they've asked the DA's Office to have the case ready to present on the third. Payne you'll be prosecuting that one. Grab whomever you need to finalize your investigation."

Winston sneered at Miles and Miles shrugged. He was rather relieved.

"GZ-12, is going to trial tomorrow, Kingsley are you prepared?" Lana continued. Kingsley was only a few years older than Miles but his face was shrunken like a prune and his watery blue eyes always seemed like they'd start crying at any moment.

"Yes, Chief," Kingsley said.

"It's New Year's Eve, so the caseload is light this week, but remember, we've got less than two months until Clean-up Day, so start sorting through the files that need to be removed to storage. Also, Chief Gant wanted to remind us that Criminal Affairs will be playing the DA on the fifteenth. He says we can forfeit now if want to save ourselves the embarrassment. Don't you think we ought to give those Dicks something to cry about?"

She said it with a deadpan that shut up the entire room. Then Miles chuckled and the others started to laugh. Chief Skye even loosened up enough to smile a little before calling them to order and dismissing them. The room erupted in chatter as the lawyers, aides, and clerks filed out of the room. Miles stood to follow the group out.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said. She stood near the window looking out. Miles stood beside her but said nothing.

"Why did you storm out of my office earlier?" She said abruptly.

"I'm sorry Chief," he said, "I thought we were finished."

"I was going to tell you about your appointment then—no need to flaunt it in front of everyone else."

"Oh," Miles said, and his brow furrowed, thinking that their earlier conversation seemed to be heading toward a much nastier conclusion.

"Unless, that is what your prefer?" She said coolly.

"No," Miles said through clenched teeth, "It isn't."

Chief Skye shrugged casually as if they'd just been discussing the weather, "Congratulations on your appointment."

"Thank you," Miles said and turned to leave but she touched his elbow.

"You did take my warning, did you?" She said.

"Thank you," Miles said again.

"The higher up you go, the more likely the fall will be fatal," she said quietly.

"Understood," Miles said.

"Oh and one more thing, Edgeworth," she said a little more loudly. Miles just looked at her, hoping she wouldn't find anything in his expression that told her just how much he wanted to get away from her.

"Have you been practicing that curveball?"

Miles slapped his forehead and started walking away, "Good day, Chief."

In his harried departure, Miles missed her smile.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **_

_Chapter 4… (oh man…) If the flashbacks are too much I can tone them down… Somehow I imagine sepia hues and ah…. The scent of fresh lemon…_

_Updated: 8SEP2012... Who else is excited about AA5? Phoenix looks awesome all grown up!_


	5. Joy Ride

**Chapter 5**

**Joy Ride**

_"Is that Miles? My goodness, you're getting so big!" Auntie said and she hugged him so hard Miles couldn't breathe._

_ "Auntie," Miles said, "Dad and I brought you a present."_

_ "Wonderful," Auntie said, "But come in, come in. Oh Wellington! They're here!"_

_ Auntie's flat was very large—larger than their house—and there were servants to clean it and paintings and statues from all of her travels. Miles loved Auntie's flat—except for the cats—Auntie had five Persian cats, and they always seemed to be glaring out of the corners at him with their eyes glowing in the shadows of their sinister squashed faces._

_ Miles went straight into the drawing room to rouse the cats from their hiding places._

_ "He looks like you," Auntie said to Dad and Miles tried to pretend he couldn't hear them. He had one of the cats—a fat white one—by the tail and he dragged her out from under the divan._

_ "How do you feel?" Dad said._

_ "Wonderful, now that you and Miles are here," Auntie replied._

_ "Tea Miss Edgeworth?" the butler asked._

_ "Please, Wellington," Auntie said._

_ The cat yowled and Miles let her go._

_ "Miles!" Dad yelled as he and Auntie entered the room, "Stop bothering the cats."_

_ "Miles come and sit by me," Auntie said, "Your Dad said you got an award at the school recital last week."_

_ "Uh," Miles said and sat beside her, "Um yeah. They gave everybody awards. Everyone that played in the recital."_

_ "Miles, don't be modest," Dad said, "He received an invitation to study music at a private art school in Monterrey. He's too young, of course, but the local maestro was very impressed."_

_ Miles felt his ears go warm and shrugged when Auntie looked at him. Dad smiled and sat down on Miles' other side and put a big hand on his shoulder._

_ "But Miles knows that he will succeed if he puts in the work. He knows the path he needs to walk to reach his goals. Isn't that right, son?"_

_ Miles frowned a little; the adults sometimes seemed to enjoy making him uncomfortable._

"_Yeah Dad," he said._

_The butler brought tea and Miles stared at the liquid in his cup while Auntie complained to Dad about the hospital and the doctor she was seeing and the medicine she had to take and how lonely it was since they'd moved into the suburbs. Miles wished they hadn't come and then he felt guilty about feeling that way._

"_Oh, Greg!" Auntie said suddenly, "Help me up."_

_Dad stood and held out an arm to help her stand. Miles frowned at how painfully slow it was. She rested for a moment against Dad and then turned to smile at Miles._

"_You'll never guess what I bought you for Christmas!" Auntie said._

_Miles looked up at her surprised._

"_But we can wait for Christmas," Dad said, "right?"_

"_Oh nonsense and superstition," Auntie shot Miles a conspiratorial look, "Miles do you really want to wait until Christmas?"_

_Dad gave Miles a sharp look and Miles frowned, "I can wait until Christmas," he said and then looked at Auntie, "But I'd like to see it now too."_

_Dad shook his head, but he smiled as Auntie took her cane and led them out of the apartment and into the elevator in the corridor outside. She pushed the buttons and smiled at Miles again._

"_You're going to love this," she said._

_The elevator dinged and opened into the building's basement garage. Auntie was holding very tightly to Dad's arm as she led the way. She stopped beside a red sports car, and pointed. Dad looked scandalized. Miles was confused._

"_You can't be serious," Dad said._

"_Is it inside your new car?" Miles said._

"_This is yours Miles."_

_Miles eyebrows went up very high and Dad shook his head, "Miles can't drive. He won't learn for at least another six or seven years."_

"_I can learn," Miles said defensively. Auntie unlocked the car and Miles sat in the driver's seat._

"_This is a little crazy—more than a little… He's nine years old," Miles heard Dad say to Auntie. He slouched low in the seat and poked at the buttons on the console._

"_I wanted to give it to him before I—"_

_Dad must have stopped her saying it, but Miles knew why they were here. It wasn't just for Christmas. Auntie and Dad were talking very quietly among themselves. Miles put his hands on the steering wheel and wished they'd given him the keys._

* * *

He sped a little—well maybe a lot—but that's why people buy cars like his, right? You don't take Sunday drives in sports cars. It just seemed like a waste. For a little while he felt completely free, alone in his car, flying so fast the merest falter could have sent him over the cliffs to his death. Or into the side of a mountain, or another car. Sometimes thoughts like that crept in and they never seemed so bad. Just a bit of daring, a tempting of fate, and that near-miss feeling in the pit of his stomach when the car lurched a little because he was taking the curve too fast and the slightest correction always seemed over compensated.

Miles was still giddy after he parked and locked his car in the garage and went to climb the stairs to his room. He didn't realize how tired he was until he hit the fifth floor landing. He'd been sleeping well after the trial and the all-nighters seemed like a thing of the past—so his foray into danger took its toll. Miles yawned and started up the next flight of stairs.

He tripped on something in front of his door and some half-formed rationalization escaped his sleep-deprived mind and he kicked it against the wall opposite his door and ducked. And nothing happened. And after a while he peeked over his shoulder and stared at the oddly shaped mass, until finally he worked up the courage to walk over and examine it.

It was a gift basket with his name written in large red letters with hearts replacing o's and dotting the i's. Miles frowned and unlocked his door. Wellington was hurrying over from the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh, Mister Edgeworth," the butler said, "We were worried sick about you."

Miles absently turned the gift basket over in his hands and looked at the table where the house phone sat. There was also a vase of flowers and a few unopened bottles of champagne. Miles didn't see flowers or champagne on that table the night before.

He rubbed his face and started to remove his jacket, "Wellington," he paused to yawn again, "What is this mischief?"

"The Champagne came from the ladies downstairs," Wellington said.

Miles frowned, he might've shuddered if Wellington wasn't standing in front of him. The collective ladies downstairs did indeed live several floors below but not in the same apartment. There were smaller apartments below the seventh floor and they seemed to be inhabited by an incongruous number of forty-something, well to do single ladies.

"The flowers were anonymous," Wellington pointed at the gift basket Miles was still holding, "We didn't see that one."

"Oh," Miles said and passed the basket and his jacket to Wellington.

"Breakfast, sir?" Wellington said.

"What? No," Miles yawned again, "I'm going to bed—for a bit. I have to move offices today. By close of business."

"Very good, sir," Wellington said, but there was a note of uncertainty in the man's voice.

His alarm woke him at nine, but he didn't feel like getting up. Pess was a large warm mass beside him and that made it so much harder to force himself to get up and make himself presentable. If anyone learned of his habit of racing around in his car at night, he'd probably have to go into hiding.

Miles washed and dressed—khakis, white shirt, black sweater—he was only going to move his things from one office to another.

Miles stopped by the kitchen on his way out and had managed a cup of tea on his own when the cook came in looking dismayed.

"Never mind," Miles said, "I'm in a hurry."

The toaster spat out two halves of a cinnamon raisin bagel and he took them and stepped out of the kitchen. There were champagne bottles on the table in the entryway.

Miles was chewing his bagel thoughtfully—he paused and smiled to himself. He was very clever. Miles swallowed his mouthful of bagel.

"Um," he said in the direction of the kitchen, "Can you get me a bag?"

"M-me, sir?" The cook said no doubt still worried that since Miles had gone and used the toaster all by himself—some imagined repercussion would fall upon her.

"Whomever," Miles said, though the cook was the only person in the kitchen, "One of those bags—you know—that you put things in… from the store."

"Will this do sir?" Wellington had come from nowhere and held up a canvas shopping bag. Miles put his bagel between his teeth and took the bag. He started putting the champagne in it. Wellington frowned slightly.

"What will you do with it, sir?" Wellington said.

Miles looked at him and shrugged, he still had the bagel in his mouth. Then he gave a bottle to Wellington and walked out the door with his half-eaten bagel in one hand and a bag of champagne in the other.

Miles parked and paused to check his phone before stepping out of his car and entering the main entrance to the police department. On his way to Criminal Affairs, a poncho-clad, bandana wearing, patrol officer, standing outside one of the stations security checkpoints, held out an arm to stop him.

"Weyyll! Hey there buckaroo, what are you up to?" The policeman said.

"Not now, Marshall," Miles said and attempted to continue, but Marshall kept his arm out.

"Not so fast, son," Marshall said, "What are you sneaking in here with? And all incognito—like some coyote bandito."

"I'm a prosecutor," Miles forced a smile and tapped a finger to his temple, "I am well within my rights to enter these premises."

"Boy, I know who you are," Marshall circled around him so that Miles was trapped between the policeman and the wall, "What are you bringing in here? Tampered evidence?"

Miles glared at him, "Will you step back? There's no reason for this—"

"Mister Edgeworth!" Gumshoe's razor-burned face appeared over Marshall's shoulder grinning.

Marshall stepped back still eyeing Miles suspiciously with sidelong glances. He stepped back into the doorway of the security office and started cleaning his nails with a large bowie knife. Gumshoe rounded on him.

"Hey Pal! What's your problem threatening Edgeworth like that? He's the High Prosecutor now! No little scumbag patrol cop has the right to jump all over the High Prosecutor! You got a problem with Edgeworth, Pal? You come to me, don't go threatening Edgeworth in dark corners, Pal!"

Miles felt his face grow hot hearing Gumshoe's tirade and he turned his face away from the two men. Marshall continued to pick at his nails with his knife as if he hadn't heard Gumshoe at all. Gumshoe glared at him for good measure, panting a little after his outburst. Marshall muttered under his breath.

"What did you say, Pal?"

"We're in a police station—not some abandoned ghost town on the windswept plain. So you don't have to shout."

"Get back in there," Gumshoe said and he moved as if to shove Marshall into the security room, but Marshall ducked inside before Gumshoe could touch him.

Gumshoe turned and grinned at Miles, "Happy New Year, pal!"

Miles stared for a moment and then stood and dusted at some imaginary dirt from the encounter off of his shoulder.

"I mean Happy New Year, sir," Gumshoe repeated, a little deflated.

"Woot," Miles said.

Gumshoe frowned, "You can do better than that Mr. Edgeworth."

"Right," Miles said and he cleared his throat and reached into his bag, "Here is a bottle of Champagne."

Marshall poked his head out of the security room.

"Sh-sh… Champagne…? Mr. Edgeworth…" Gumshoe stammered.

"Whooop! Happy New Year Gumshoe!" Miles shouted. Several police officers stopped. Miles' ears turned red and he put his head down and started to walk out of the building.

Marshall gave a long whistle from the Security Room door, "Weyyll… If the moon won't arise blue tonight."

"What's all this racket out here?" Marshall almost jumped at the voice behind him. Miles and Gumshoe and several nearby policemen stopped in their tracks. The Chief of Police had just come out of the evidence room and was standing over Marshall in the security room. He grinned at the policemen standing around and adjusted his tinted glasses.

"You," he said, "turn around."

Miles turned and looked at him coolly, but offered no other expression, "Chief."

"Is that you little Worthy?" Gant said and his grin spread, "I didn't recognize you without your bib."

"My bi—?" Miles started to say.

"You weren't at the New Year's Party last night, Worthy… Seems you didn't feel the need to grace us with your presence."

"It's a cravat…" Miles said—still stuck on Gant's bib comment.

The Chief of Police smiled and he stepped forward and put an arm across Miles' shoulders, "Our little Worthy, you're getting all grown up now, aren't you?"

"Um…" Miles said. Gant gave him a fatherly squeeze—a one-armed embrace—Miles grimaced but didn't dare pull away.

"Chief Prosecutor Skye went and made you the High Prosecutor, you must be very proud."

"I know the path I've walked," Miles muttered and shrugged. Chief Gant dropped his arm and Miles took several steps away from him.

"How long has it been now?" Gant rubbed his chin, "Five years I think? Maybe a little more—since our boy wonder showed up?"

Miles was suddenly very uncomfortable, and unconsciously the fingers of his right hand wrapped around his left elbow. He glared away from Chief Gant and focused instead on the stained hem of Gumshoe's trench coat.

"What's everyone standing around here for?" Chief Gant shouted suddenly. Miles startled and covered up by crossing his arms. The still station erupted in movement and activity and only then did Miles notice that everything had gone still when the Chief arrived. Marshall was whistling at his post in the guard station, sharpening his knife on a stone and Gumshoe rubbed his head and offered a sympathetic look as he went back toward Criminal Affairs.

Gant pushed Miles into a nook past the security room where a water fountain was placed out of the way of traffic in the corridor.

"Worthy… Indeed," Gant said, "What are your plans, little Worthy?"

"Chief," Miles said, "I'm going up to my office to move my things. Then, I suppose I'll review some of the cases we have on the docket."

Chief Gant burst out laughing very loudly and Miles backed into the water fountain. It started to buzz and he looked down at it.

"Clever fellow," Gant said, still laughing, "Taking it one day at a time are you? Very clever…"

Gant stopped laughing as suddenly as his outburst began. He was glaring at Miles directly and Miles glared back and started to tap his forefinger with impatience.

"You're going down Edgeworth," Gant said, Miles narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

"You're not allowed to hit for anyone else—it isn't fair," Gant said.

"Since when were you worried about fair, Chief?" Miles said and he gave the Chief of Police a shrewd little smirk.

"Touché," Gant grinned and slapped Miles on the shoulder before walking away.

* * *

_"Miles?" Phoenix's mom found him sitting on the porch in his pajamas. He didn't even turn to look up at her._

_ "Miles, sweetie, you'll catch a cold," she said, "Come inside."_

_ Miles stood wordlessly and followed her inside. Phoenix was in the sitting room, owl eyed and just as worried as his mother. Miles had thought him asleep._

_ "Guys it's really late," Phoenix's mom said, "I thought you were going to bed."_

_ "Mom, we did go to bed," Phoenix said earnestly, "But Miles got up and never came back."_

_ "Miles…" Phoenix's mom looked at him with sympathy, but she wasn't going to say anything._

_ "Anyway," Phoenix said, "It's not like we have school or anything."_

_ "Yeah," Phoenix's mom said, "But we'll miss the parade if we end up staying up all night and sleep all day."_

_ "So," Phoenix said—Miles thought his apparent indifference sounded forced—Phoenix had been excited about the parade earlier. Phoenix got excited about a lot of things._

_ "It's always the same anyway," Phoenix muttered._

_ "Oh is it?" His mom said, "So you're saying you don't want to go?"_

_ "I don't care," Phoenix said, "But Larry might get upset—because I said we'd be there."_

_ Miles thought he saw her smile a little at her son, "Miles do you want to go to the parade."_

_ Miles looked dumbly at the two of them for several moments and then nodded. Phoenix would be upset if they didn't go. Miles didn't want to cause them so much trouble._

_ "So… Will you go back to bed and stay there?" Phoenix's mom said._

_ "Well," Phoenix said, "Maybe we could have some cocoa first?"_

_ Phoenix's mom put her hand on his head a rumpled his short spiky hair, "Sure Phoenix. Do you want cocoa Miles?"_

_ Miles shook his head. Phoenix elbowed him._

_ "Use your words," he said, "Stop being weird."_

_ Miles clutched his arm and looking at the floor, he said, "No ma'am, I already brushed my teeth."_

_ "Are you sure? You can always brush them again," she patted his shoulder and beckoned the two boys follow her into the clean but cluttered kitchen._

_ Miles only wanted to hide, but his Dad would be angry if he behaved rudely, so he followed them. Phoenix leaned near him and said, "Miles you're weird today. Stop being weird."_

_ Miles was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friend._

* * *

Miles lay on the couch in his new office. With everything moved in, it wasn't very different from his old office. The view from the window was slightly different, but Miles wasn't tempted to spend much time looking down from twelve stories up. He stared around the room, it was still Manfred Von Karma's Office. He wasn't sure if he'd get over that very easily.

Gumshoe had been kind enough to come and help him move. The man was hunched over the chessboard squinting at the pieces and arranging them in various patterns on the board—he still couldn't grasp the first thing about the game.

Miles plopped the folder he had onto a stack on the floor near the couch and grabbed up the next from a few he had stacked against his thighs. It wasn't very formal, but he was still tired from the night before and it was New Year's Day—no one would be around.

"I'm going to grab a bite," Gumshoe said standing, "You wanna come, sir?"

Miles took his pen out of his mouth and he grabbed up the folders on his lap and sat up.

"Ah… I'll go later," Miles said, "I just want to finish up so I don't have to come back."

"I could bring you something," Gumshoe said.

"No thanks," Miles said absently as he turned his attention to the folders again, "I'm not staying very much longer—then I'm going home."

"See you later, Mr. Edgeworth," the detective said and he grabbed up his trench coat and left.

There weren't a lot of cases going to trial in the next week, but the Honeymoon Stalkers was a big deal. The district hadn't had a Serial Murder since the Joe Darke Killings—and this one was more complicated. Miles frowned at Winston's notes on the investigation, the evidence looked solid enough. Miles scribbled in the margin of Winston's typed report, he'd have to meet with the man tomorrow, before they went to trial. Miles sighed; Winston could be very tiresome.

He picked up all the Honeymoon folders and bound them with a rubber band and then plopped them on the desk. There was only one small stack left. He brought them back to the couch and sat down. He flipped open the first folder.

Miles laughed out loud. A horse thief had been arrested and his case was going to trial tomorrow. Somehow Officer Marshall came to mind, but Miles wondered if Jake Marshall had ever even seen a real horse. Unfortunately, this horse, apparently a huge star on the Mexican racing circuit, was valued at over two million dollars—Grand Larceny.

He chuckled again, looking over the police report and evidence list—too bad he'd taken that day off. The prosecutor on the case was older than him, but new to the job and the district. Holly Smock—Miles didn't remember talking to her. He dropped the folder and picked up the next one, Holly's notes were very concise. Miles yawned and looked at the defendant's profile. The defendant's counsel? "Court appointed" was handwritten over an ink line that crossed out Phoenix Wright.

Miles smiled.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! **_

_Chapter 5… (Oh yeah… It just keeps going…) Jake Marshall is one of my favorite characters in this series. I'd always hoped he'd come back… but sadly… no…_

_The real reason he moved offices is because I was embarrassed about using the wrong number in an earlier chapter and somehow the cover-up became a plot device… (Don't hold it against me)_

_Updated: 8SEP2012... especially because the only place I ever had a blueberry bagel was this hole-in-the-wall bakery in New York... I figured cinnamon raisin would be more believable..._


	6. Champagne Promises

**Chapter 6**

**Champagne Promises**

_Phoenix looked over at Miles and frowned. His Dad had dropped him off again, early in the morning—since school ended for winter break, it seemed Miles was staying over all the time. Mom was very chill about it—Phoenix thought maybe she liked Mr. Edgeworth. Miles was still staring at the TV blankly—the DVD had ended and the menu played over and over on the screen, but Miles kept watching. Miles wasn't as much fun as Larry._

_ Phoenix punched Miles in the arm, "Hey, let's go get Larry and bike out to the wall."_

_ Miles clutched his arm where Phoenix had hit him and only nodded in reply. Phoenix stood and frowned at Miles before jogging into the kitchen to find Mom._

_ "Mom!" She was still sipping at her coffee and flipping through her recipe book._

_ "Phoenix you don't have to shout," she said._

_ "I wasn't shouting," Phoenix said, "Me and Miles wanna go to Larry's and then go biking."_

_ "It's still early, did you call Larry?" Mom said, "I thought he was going to Fresno for Christmas."_

_ "Oh yeah," Phoenix said, "Were they leaving today?"_

_ "How should I know?" Mom laughed, "You could try calling. I'm thinking about asking Mr. Edgeworth to stay for dinner, when he comes to pick up Miles."_

_ "Aw mom!" Phoenix said, "Why would you want to do that?"_

_ "I thought you and Miles were friends?"_

_ "Well," Phoenix leaned over to peak into the sitting room where Miles was still staring at the DVD menu screen looping on the television, "Miles is weird. I don't like hanging out with him anymore."_

_ "Phoenix," Mom scolded, "His family is going through a difficult time."_

_ Phoenix shrugged, "Well but, he doesn't have to be so weird."_

_ "Phoenix," Mom said._

_ "I could go by myself, then," Phoenix said, "and you can stay here with Miles."_

_ "No," Mom said sternly, "It isn't safe—"_

_ "Mom! I'm not a little kid—"_

_ "You're my little kid," Mom grabbed him around his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead._

_ "Mom!" Phoenix said and when he looked up Miles had left the sofa and was standing by the window. Thank god Miles didn't see Mom trying to embarrass him._

_ "Miles!" Mom said and Phoenix sighed in dismay. Miles was just not fun anymore._

_ Miles came into the doorway and stood, waiting obediently for Mom to say whatever it was she'd called him over for. Phoenix groaned and looked at the tabletop, tracing the wood grain with his finger._

_ "Miles, dear, are you feeling well?" Mom said, "You're really quiet today."_

_ Phoenix looked at Miles and then his mom, why was she so worried about him being quiet? Usually she was telling them to keep it down. She should be happy that Miles was quiet._

_ "I'm fine, ma'am," Miles said._

_ "No," Phoenix said, "You're being weird. I wish you'd stop it."_

_ Miles looked directly at Phoenix and Phoenix was worried that Miles would burst into tears._

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Phoenix said staring squinty eyed at the face in the doorway. Edgeworth was staring back in his pink suit and lacey neck cloth.

"Did I wake you?" Edgeworth said and he looked so lost and disappointed Phoenix had no choice but to let the other man inside.

"No," Phoenix lied, and he turned to lead the way into his apartment rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. "But it's early in the morning. What do you want?"

"It's after nine," Edgeworth said, "nine seventeen."

That's still early, Phoenix thought. If the burger places were still serving breakfast, it was too early to be up—unless you had to be. He left Edgeworth standing by the door and went back into his bedroom to put a sweatshirt on over the t-shirt he'd slept in. Then he motioned Edgeworth into his tiny kitchen.

"Coffee?" Phoenix said and Edgeworth shook his head. Good, Phoenix thought and set the half-filled carafe back into the sink—he didn't have to make any then. Then he sat at the table and rubbed at the three-day-old stubble on his chin.

"So what can I do for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth cocked his head to the side and gave him a small smile, "I'm on my way to court today and I—"

"You're prosecuting that horse thief case?" Phoenix said.

"No," Edgeworth said, "But I noticed that your name had been crossed off the defense."

Phoenix shook his head, "I never agreed to defend that guy. If they had my name on there it was a mistake."

"Why?"

Phoenix was startled at the question. It was hard enough sometimes just knowing why he made his own mistakes—let alone why one of the clerks in the district court would make a mistake. "Why what? I don't know what your asking about Edgeworth."

"Why didn't you take that case?"

Phoenix smiled and paused to rub his face again, "I don't know—maybe I just didn't feel like it?"

Edgeworth looked disappointed, "Oh," he said.

"Was that all?" Phoenix said.

"Yeah," Edgeworth said, "and this."

Edgeworth produced a bottle of champagne from a canvas shopping bag that Phoenix only just noticed he was carrying and held it up toward him. Phoenix took it reluctantly.

"What's this for?"

"Happy New Year," Edgeworth said. Phoenix thought the man looked a little pleased with himself, and he was a little unnerved.

"Miles," Phoenix said as kindly as he could muster first thing in the morning, "It's the second. You don't have to keep celebrating all week."

Edgeworth shrugged, "If you don't like it, give it to Larry. I gave him two yesterday."

"Is this some sort of charity you've started?" Phoenix said, he turned the bottle in his hands. He didn't recognize the label and guessed it was a vintage he couldn't casually afford. Edgeworth was frowning a little at him.

Phoenix felt sort of guilty now. Edgeworth was always a little weird, and all of the messed-up history he'd uncovered of his past during that trial certainly wouldn't have helped. He supposed he should be grateful, Edgeworth had thought of him at all. Phoenix smiled at him.

"Thanks man," he said, "I'm not normally a champagne kind of guy, but I'm sure I'll enjoy it." Edgeworth was still frowning at him. Maybe the last part was going to far?

"What's wrong with you?" Edgeworth said.

Phoenix shook his head, startled this time at Edgeworth's perception. He had been a little down the last few days. But Phoenix just shrugged it off and smiled.

"Nothing, I'm fine," he said, "I think it's just the winter doldrums—you know…"

"You look awful," Edgeworth said, and he sat back in his chair and covered his nose and mouth, "You're not ill are you?"

Phoenix's brow furrowed, "Of course not. It's just—well… Maya left. She said she had to go back to her village to finish her training… I was just… never mind."

"She's gone to a University?"

"No," Phoenix ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, "She's training to be a psychic medium."

"Oh," Edgeworth said. Phoenix was a little perturbed at Edgeworth's reaction. Who was he to judge anyway?

"Yeah, I don't care what you think," Phoenix said defensively, "I've seen things with Maya that make me believe."

"No comment," Edgeworth said. Phoenix ruefully remembered the Psychic brought in for the DL-6 Incident and frowned. The ice was getting dangerously thin. Edgeworth turned away from him, contemplative, and his profile was silhouetted in the window. Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like your dad?"

Edgeworth turned to face him glaring from under a furrowed brow. Phoenix smiled slightly, that was the Edgeworth he was familiar with.

"Wright," Edgeworth said, "I don't have to remind you that my father was murdered when I was nine. Naturally, not many people around here remember him."

Edgeworth's eyes were gray, and usually they looked stormy and dark in the artificial light of the district courthouse, but in the morning light they were pale, almost blue.

"I should go," Edgeworth said and he stood, "That Honeymoon trial begins tomorrow. It's going to be packed in the courthouse, but if you're interested, I can get you in."

"Um," Phoenix said, surprised, "I'll think about it. How long will you be at work today?"

"I should be done by five or six this afternoon," Edgeworth said.

"You should come by tonight," Phoenix said, "Larry's started at that new pizza place—so he's bringing dinner. We were going to have a few beers and watch Die Hard. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined us. Seven, seven-thirty?"

Edgeworth hesitated, "I'll think about it."

Phoenix walked him out, a little surprised but not all together displeased with his visit. Poor Edgeworth, even after the trial, with the whole painful truth laid out for the world to see—he was still a little fucked up. Phoenix frowned, maybe he'd always be a little fucked up, maybe nothing could save him.

Phoenix finished filling the carafe and poured it into the coffee pot, then he added coffee and set the machine brewing. While he waited for his coffee to percolate, he sat at his small table and picked up the bottle of champagne. It was a thoughtful gesture, if a little awkward.

While he was holding the bottle, Phoenix noticed a small piece of thin cardboard taped to the bottom of it. A gift card? Phoenix pulled it off and opened it. His breath caught in his throat when he read it.

"What the—?" What kind of sick joke was this?

* * *

_"Miles!" Phoenix was panting hard as he stood to try to get some speed going up the hill, "Miles! What are you doing?"_

_ Miles had already reached the top of the hill and he was looking down at Phoenix struggling to catch him up. One foot on the ground and his bike tilted slightly underneath him. The wind whipped at his mousey colored hair and collar of his button down shirt._

_ Phoenix was panting so hard he couldn't speak when he crested the hill. Miles was looking down the other side of the hill, now. Phoenix frowned, if they went that way they'd have to climb back up the hill in order to get home._

_ "Miles…" Phoenix whined, "We shouldn't go down there."_

_ "I think this is that road," Miles said, "Dad said it goes to a light house. I think it's the same light house that Larry said was haunted."_

_ "I don't want to see a haunted lighthouse," Phoenix said._

_ "This side of the hill is steeper than the one we just came up," Miles said, "I'll bet we could hit a hundred miles per hour going down that hill."_

_ "Don't go down there," Phoenix pleaded. He'd never been out this far from his neighborhood and he doubted that Miles was anymore familiar with the place than he was._

_ "Let's just go back now," Phoenix said, "Mom and Mrs. Baxter are making Christmas cookies today. Jilly Baxter is probably at my house right now."_

_ Miles looked at Phoenix, eyes wild and his young brow furrowed. He crossed his arms and looked back down the far side of the hill._

_ "I can't make you come with me, Nick," He said, "But I have to go. And I'm going today."_

_ "Aw come on," Phoenix said, "My mom will kill me if I let you off on your own."_

_ "And why are you in charge?" Miles said, "I'm older than you."_

_ "Whatever," Phoenix said, "You're staying at my house."_

_ Miles frowned at him and Phoenix shivered in the wind and he was afraid of the early winter night coming on and the calls of stray gulls distorted by the wind into chilling screams. And he was afraid for his friend. Miles had been weird for days—weird and withdrawn. Now he'd lost it and seemed determined to drag the both of them down that empty evil path that lead to that haunted lighthouse._

_ "Miles please," Phoenix said, "I don't want to go. If you go down there, I'm going to turn around and go home. I won't do it!"_

_ "What are you afraid of Nick? There's no such thing as ghosts!"_

_ "How do you know!"_

_ "There's no evidence to prove it!"_

_ "There's no evidence to disprove it either!"_

_ "When people die they just die and they're gone forever! You never see them again! Ergo, ghosts and spirits are all tricks of the mind!"_

_ Phoenix started to cry and he grabbed Miles by the collar and dragged him off of his bike, "Stop it!"_

_ "Stop what?"_

_ "You're scaring me!"_

_ "Stop being a crybaby then! Go run to your mommy! I can do it by myself!"_

_ "No!" Phoenix said, "You have to stay with me. That's what Mom said."_

_ "Your mom is not my mom!"_

_ The two boys struggled in the dirt with their bikes fallen over. Miles always had his hair longer and Phoenix grabbed it in two fistfuls and shook him. But Miles also went to some kind of martial arts class and he somehow managed to not only get out from under Phoenix, but also flip him over and pin him to the ground. They fought until both of them were panting and crying and red faced from exertion. Somehow in their struggle, Miles' bike slid down the far slope off the road and into a ravine. Both of them stopped fighting at the sound of it crashing into the deep ditch._

_ Phoenix stared down at the ditch, he couldn't see the bike, only the black trench shadowed in the fading evening like the maw of some giant monster. Miles was staring at the same thing. Then Miles started to cry, he pulled his knees up to his nose and hugged them and sat there like a little ball sobbing uncontrollably in the dirt. Phoenix glared at him sidelong._

_ Then he stood and dusted himself off and got on his bike._

_ "You're stupid," Phoenix said and raced his bike down the slope he'd struggled up earlier. It was so cool to go so fast and the momentum carried him back to the familiar streets of his neighborhood, where there were streetlights and cars and barking dogs. _

_Phoenix stopped his bike. It seemed like it had gotten dark so fast, and he'd left Miles alone on that hill. Phoenix frowned, the streetlights were turning on and Mom was going to be so mad, but he couldn't leave his friend out alone in the night. Even if he was stupid._

_Phoenix left his bike at the bottom of the hill, feeling that he could trudge up it faster on his own two feet. The light was fading quickly and by the time he reached the top of the hill it was nearly full dark. Miles was still curled in the same spot where Phoenix had left him. Only, he was quiet and unmoving._

"_Miles?" Phoenix said. After a moment that seemed impossibly long Miles picked up his head and looked at Phoenix._

"_I thought you went home," Miles said._

"_Come on," Phoenix said, "The streetlights came on already, we're going to get in trouble."_

_Miles didn't move but Phoenix held out a hand to help him up._

* * *

Phoenix was still picking up magazines and newspapers and the odd manga digest scattered on the floor around the TV when someone knocked at the door at twenty after seven. Larry hadn't said anything since he'd called around noon—but then Phoenix never really placed much stock in Larry's punctuality. So of course, this had to be Edgeworth. Phoenix frowned and shoved the armload of periodicals into a cabinet in the kitchen—he didn't have any appliances or flatware to fill that cabinet anyway. He half-hoped that Edgeworth would've declined the invitation—especially after that note.

Edgeworth looked nervous when Phoenix opened the door, and that made it worse. He must've just come from the office, because he was still wearing the slacks he had on in the morning—only, he'd discarded the cravat and suit jacket. Edgeworth was carrying a pineapple. He could be so strange sometimes.

"Hello," Phoenix said. He was trying very hard to pretend that note didn't exist. Edgeworth managed something of a smile and pushed the pineapple toward Phoenix.

"My boss suggested I bring some kind of platter—fruit or vegetables—but alas, I find I'm quite lacking in the art of food preparation and presentation. Plus, this reminded me of you."

Phoenix took the pineapple and looked at it in his hands, then he laughed.

"Okay," Phoenix said, "You didn't have to bring anything—just yourself."

Phoenix turned and bit the inside of his lip—maybe he shouldn't have said that last part? He motioned toward the tiny living area and held up the spiky fruit.

"I'll-uh… I'll go put it in water," Phoenix said and went into the kitchen. He turned the pineapple in his hands—do pineapples go in water? He set it on the table and the thing looked perfectly content so he let it be.

When Phoenix went into the sitting room, Edgeworth was still standing. Phoenix stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at him. Edgeworth was looking around the room.

"Please," Phoenix said after a while, "Have a seat."

Edgeworth planted himself on the end of the futon closest to the door. Phoenix watched him with amusement. He really was an awkward fellow. In court he was intimidating, even as an ally. Here he was a fish out of water. Edgeworth looked at him and Phoenix startled. He turned to go back into the kitchen. Was I staring at him? Did he think I was staring at him? Where the hell was Larry?

"Uh do you want a beer?" Phoenix called out.

"No thank you," Edgeworth said.

"Um, how about a soda? I have red Fanta and coke," Phoenix said. Where the hell did the red Fanta come from?

"No thank you," Edgeworth said.

"Water?" Phoenix was starting to get desperate.

"That's fine," Edgeworth said.

Phoenix grabbed a plastic bottle from a case and a beer for himself. He handed Edgeworth the plastic bottle and then opened his beer. Edgeworth held the water bottle in his hand but didn't move to open it. He was still sweeping the small room with his eyes. Probably studying the room to learn more about me, Phoenix thought with a shudder. He threw his head back and swallowed half his beer in one draught. This was going to be very awkward, he shouldn't have invited him.

Phoenix frowned and looked out the window, it was nearly eight and in January it was dark well before eight. He swallowed another gulp of beer and then cleared his throat.

"So-ah… How was the trial today?" Phoenix said.

"Boring," Edgeworth said and he turned to look out the window too. "I didn't stay for the whole thing, as I had other business to attend to. But I heard we did get a conviction."

"Yeah," Phoenix said absently.

"Wright," Edgeworth said, "Do you believe Justice or Truth is more important?"

"Wha—?" Phoenix said, "Aren't they the same thing?"

"I wonder," Edgeworth said.

"I usually go with my gut," Phoenix said.

"That's not very scientific," Edgeworth said.

"Oh well," Phoenix said, "That's why we strive to find the evidence to back it up."

Edgeworth seemed to run out of social steam again and said nothing else. Phoenix finished his beer and went to change out his empty for a new one. When he came back he was horrified to see Edgeworth studying the back of a Steel Samurai DVD. Phoenix must have missed it while cleaning.

"That's Maya's!" Phoenix said.

"Oh," Edgeworth said and set it on the TV stand.

Phoenix sighed and joined Edgeworth on the futon—sitting as far on the opposite side of it as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn't a very large futon. Phoenix turned on the TV and was relieved when the 24-hour cable news channel came on. Edgeworth frowned at the smiling newscasters. Phoenix's eye strayed toward his face, studying the planes and angles brought out by the light of the TV, and he caught himself and guiltily looked at the floor.

He should say something. Before Larry got here. Something to make the awkwardness go away. They were friends before, when they were kids—why shouldn't they be friends now? That note, that little card on the champagne bottle that would stand between them like a wall. As long as Edgeworth understood the boundaries of their friendship, they could be friends no matter what his preference.

"So," Phoenix said, "Edgeworth—Miles—can I call you Miles?"

"It's my name," Edgeworth said, "Although, I have to ask that you don't act overly familiar with me in court."

So that was a yes… maybe? Phoenix lost his train of thought. Edgeworth seemed to eat sleep and breathe the law and his work.

"So Miles," Phoenix started again and Edgeworth looked directly at him, "That champagne you brought over this morning…"

"Did you like it? If I had known I wouldn't have given one to Marshall," He said.

"Who's Marshall?"

"Oh, he's a policeman."

"Oh, so you just went around and gave out champagne to everybody on New Year's?"

"Not exactly," Edgeworth said, "I only had eight bottles."

"Oh," Phoenix said, "Well the bottle you gave me—it seemed special—did you perhaps intend to give it to someone else?"

Edgeworth turned to face him, "Special in what way? They all looked the same to me."

Phoenix frowned at the floor, how do I say this? He didn't want to offend Edgeworth. Edgeworth was still looking at him; one eye colored by the changing light of the television and one eye endless dark and shadow.

"Um," Phoenix said, "The one you gave me had a card on it…"

Edgeworth put his face in his hands.

"Wright—Phoenix," Edgeworth said, "I didn't write those cards. I'm sorry if you're disappointed."

"What? I'm not disappointed—In fact, I'm relieved," Phoenix finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the floor. He pointed his finger at Edgeworth.

"Was that a joke?" Phoenix said, "Did you play a joke on me?"

"As much as I'd like to take credit for that kind of cleverness, it was really only an accident. I'm sorry," Edgeworth said, but he was staring strangely at Phoenix.

"You didn't really believe that I—"

"You know," Phoenix said, "I can't really tell. You do wear a pink suit in court!"

"It's not pink, it's magenta. A strong primary color," Edgeworth said suddenly defensive, "It's not very different from your suit."

"Wha—?" Phoenix said, "Are you colorblind?"

Edgeworth hesitated and frowned. Before he could answer Larry banged on the door. Phoenix kept his glare locked with Edgeworth for a moment longer before getting up to answer the door.

"Nick!" Larry said, "Let me in these pies are hot!"

Larry came in and set the pizza precariously on the TV, he smiled at Edgeworth.

"Hey Edgey! How are you?" Larry said.

"Well," Edgeworth said.

Larry grabbed Phoenix by the elbow, "Man, I need a beer."

Phoenix led him into the kitchen and opened the fridge, Larry kept looking back over his shoulder at Edgeworth.

"Nick, man, I think Edgeworth is in love with me… This is so strange, man."

Phoenix laughed out loud.

* * *

_**A/N: I just want to thank both my readers for reading this… It does matter to me**_

_Sorry for the long build-up… Still Edgie-centric, but I gave Phoenix POV (I was starting to miss Phoenix—plus he's easier to write, since all the games are in his POV)_

_Also, I imagine Maya might be the type of girl who drinks red Fanta_

_Updated: 08SEP2012_


	7. Truth, Justice and Coffee

**Chapter 7**

**Truth, Justice, and Coffee**

_"Miles what the heck?" Phoenix said._

"_I can't figure it out!" Miles said. Then he crashed into the wall again. Phoenix crossed his arms impatiently._

"_You know the race won't finish until you cross the finish line," Phoenix said, "We're going to be here all day, aren't we?"_

_Somehow Miles seemed to think it was a good idea to use his elbow on the controller while playing Mario Kart, but Phoenix didn't think that was his only problem. He shook his head as Miles failed to hit the jump ramp and miss clearing the fall trap—again. Miles was staring intently at the screen and biting his lip in concentration._

"_I can just finish the race for you—I already won anyway," Phoenix said._

"_I can do it," Miles said._

"_Boys!" Mom called, "Lunch!"_

"_Oh!" Phoenix said and he tapped reset on the Nintendo and turned off the TV._

_Miles looked crestfallen, "You could've paused it!"_

"_Let's go," Phoenix said, "I'm hungry."_

_Miles followed him to the kitchen, where Mom was checking something in the oven. She offered them a smile and continued bustling around the kitchen. There were grilled cheese sandwiches on the table for them. Phoenix attacked the plate while Miles spread a napkin over his lap. Miles was so weird._

"_What time is your Dad coming?" Mom asked Miles._

"_Soon, I think," Miles said, "He has to go to the office, but he said I could come with him."_

"_Wait," Phoenix said, "So where's he at now?"_

"_He was at the hospital with my Aunt still… But he also had to go see a Lawyer about something."_

"_I thought he was a lawyer?"_

"_There are different kinds of lawyers," Mom said and joined them at the table, "Miles, your dad is a criminal defense attorney, right?"_

_Miles had his mouth full but he nodded emphatically._

"_Oh," Phoenix said, "Your dad works to help criminals?"_

"_No," Miles said, "He works for justice."_

_Mom smiled at him but Phoenix thought maybe he was a little too into what his dad did for a living. Lawyers is lawyers._

"_What does Phoenix's dad do?" Miles asked innocently. Phoenix choked on his grilled cheese._

_Mom smiled and looked at her hands, it made Phoenix blush._

"_Mr. Wright is a fighter pilot," she said, "In the Navy."_

_Phoenix coughed up the bit of sandwich that was choking him and ran to the bathroom. Great, mom. She'd never done that one before. Phoenix washed his hands in the bathroom sink before walking slowly back to the kitchen._

_Mom was still relaying the story of his father—which sounded eerily like the plot of Top Gun—and Miles was staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief._

"_His call-sign was Moose," Mom said, "Well, anyway, Dice Man—"_

"_Mom," Phoenix said, "Can we go outside?"_

"_But—" Miles protested. Phoenix knew Miles was too polite to argue; he counted on it._

"_Oh, okay," Mom said, "But don't go far. Mr. Edgeworth will be here soon to pick up Miles._

"_Hey Nick," Miles said as they walked to get Phoenix's bike from the backyard, "How come you never said anything about your dad being a fighter pilot? That's so awesome—almost as awesome as being a Defense Attorney."_

"_Um," Phoenix said, he thought fighter pilots were way more awesome than lawyers by the way, "I don't really remember him. I guess because he was always—uh flying—and stuff."_

"_What happened to him?" Miles asked and Phoenix was surprised at how sympathetic his friend looked. Miles' eyes were bigger than Phoenix had ever seen them._

"_Well," Phoenix said. The question made him angry and he didn't know why, but he closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened in that movie._

"_Um," Phoenix stammered, "H-he d-died… In a training accident."_

"_I'm sorry," Miles said._

"_Well, it was a long time ago, I don't really remember," Phoenix said._

"_My mom died in an accident too," Miles said. Phoenix frowned, Miles was moping again. Thanks mom, Phoenix thought._

* * *

Phoenix had to tie his briefcase to the handlebars of his bike. Someone had stolen the basket—who does that? He tore toward the courthouse, standing to put more torque into his pedaling.

He didn't wear a tie—ostensibly because he was only observing the trial and wanted to look casual—but really because he couldn't find it. He wore an Ivy U sweatshirt under his suit jacket and jeans instead of slacks, and dreaded whatever comments Edgeworth might have for him about his fashion sense. At least he'd shaved, Phoenix thought defiantly.

Edgeworth surprised him in the parking lot while Phoenix was locking his bike. Edgeworth too chose to dress inconspicuously—if not quite so casually as Phoenix. But then, Phoenix didn't think Edgeworth owned t-shirts, jeans, or sweatshirts. He probably wore a sweater vest over his pajamas.

"I like your bike," Edgeworth said.

Phoenix made a face at him, he didn't think Edgeworth was serious.

"Sorry, I'm late," Phoenix said and Edgeworth shook his head and tapped his temple in that annoying way he had when he thought he was being clever.

"I assumed you would be late," Edgeworth said, "so I gave you an early meet time."

Gee thanks, Phoenix thought, "You shouldn't assume—you know what they say about people who assume."

"No," Edgeworth said, "What do they say?"

Phoenix just shook his head and started walking toward the courthouse. Edgeworth hesitated and then followed him.

"Do we have time to get coffee?" Phoenix asked.

"Yes," Edgeworth said, "Why are you dressed like a hobo?"

"Hobo?" Phoenix said, "Casual maybe—law student even, but not hobo."

"I was only asking, people are bound to recognize you here," Edgeworth said.

"So why are you dressed so… um… monochromatically?" Phoenix said.

"Monochrom—well," Edgeworth said, "My trousers are gray and my sweater is black and the white shirt makes three colors. Not monochromatic at all."

Well, another unbeliever who never took color theory, Phoenix thought. Not feeling the need to argue with Edgeworth about the difference between shades and hues, Phoenix only nodded and conceded the argument.

Edgeworth filled him in with the case background while they joined the line for coffee. An online dating service took information from several thousand couples and matched them up—that wasn't so strange these days—but this particular site catered to a specific demographic—reformed felons. Yeah, Phoenix thought, and they're surprised about the murders?

The suspect—an accounts manager for the web service—was indicted on the murder of two people. A couple honeymooning near Carmel who had initially met using the web service. The media claimed that, in total, there were as many as 17 victims.

"We wanted to go to trial quickly," Edgeworth said, "But we've re-opened several cold cases that we believe may be related to this. Criminal Affairs has a task force focused on this case alone."

"It seems like it would be a pretty cut and dry case for the Prosecution," Phoenix said, "Why aren't you prosecuting?"

Edgeworth only shrugged, "I don't do serial murders."

"But aren't they the most heinous criminals of all?" Phoenix said.

"I don't need this case, I don't have to prove myself to anyone," Edgeworth said and he looked away to face in the direction the line was moving. Phoenix ran his fingers through his spiked black hair and smiled a little. Was Edgeworth being a little defensive?

"It has nothing to do with you losing your last two cases and then getting indicted for murder?"

"I was acquitted," Edgeworth said wagging his index finger in the air, "and no. In fact I was asked several times if I'd be willing to prosecute but for personal reasons, I declined."

Interesting, Phoenix thought, and as much as he was tempted to, he didn't ask what Edgeworth's 'personal reasons' were.

"Didn't you have a profile with that dating service?" Phoenix asked.

Edgeworth made a noise at him, something between a groan and a snarl, and crossed his arms.

The girl at the coffee stand wore glasses and a pleasant smile. Phoenix thought she was kind of cute.

"What can I get you, sir?" she said to Edgeworth and Phoenix leaned forward and stuck his head in the window in front of Edgeworth.

"We're together," he said, "Right, buddy?"

"Oh for cryin—you're worse than Gumshoe," Edgeworth said.

The girl put her hand over her mouth and laughed, it was cute, especially the way her eyes squeezed into little downturned crescents and her dark lashes touched her cheeks. Phoenix smiled at her. Edgeworth was glaring again.

"Small coffee and whatever he wants," Edgeworth said.

"Do you want cre—"

"No," Edgeworth cut her off.

"Don't mind him," Phoenix said, "He's colorblind, and so the world he lives in is pretty bleak."

"I am not color—"

"It's like living in a never-ending winter," Phoenix gave her the saddest look he could manage. The girl handed Edgeworth his coffee and smiled at Phoenix.

"What can I get you?"

"Phoenix."

"What?"

"You asked me what my name was right?"

"Oh," the girl said, "I was going to take your order…"

"I want the biggest choco-lotta-moo-cow latte you have," Phoenix said, "and a cinnamon roll."

"We don't serve lattes here," the girl said, "But I can add milk to a large coffee."

"And whipped cream and sprinkles?"

"Yeah," she said, "anything else?"

"My card," Phoenix said, and he took out his business card, and set it on the counter to write on the back of it, "My cell is on the back."

"Thanks," the girl said, "Here's your coffee—I mean latte, and your cinnamon roll. That's thirteen dollars and forty-seven cents with tax."

Phoenix grinned at Edgeworth who was muttering under his breath as he paid the girl.

"Oh, Phoenix," the girl said, "I'm Maggey."

Phoenix raised his cup as they walked up the courthouse steps and grinned at her. Edgeworth gave him a shove.

"You just hit on the coffee girl," he said incredulous, "She's what? Sixteen?"

"Lighten up, Edgey," Phoenix said.

* * *

_Miles' dad didn't come until after midnight. Miles was asleep but Phoenix peeked out from under the covers as Mom and Mister Edgeworth came into his room. Mister Edgeworth was wearing Miles' backpack over one shoulder and it looked ridiculously small perched on his big shoulder._

_ Miles was exhausted after today, and Mom said it was because he hadn't been sleeping well all week. Phoenix didn't know why, but it made him a little jealous that Mom seemed worried about Miles. Mister Edgeworth knelt beside his son's sleeping bag on the floor and picked him up—sleeping bag and all—and carried him out like a baby._

_ Phoenix didn't know why, but he was compelled to follow the adults. He jumped out of his bed and snuck into the hall and stood at the wall where the hall emptied into the sitting room. Mister Edgeworth wore a long coat and thick horn-rimmed glasses. He was tall and towered over Mom and seeing Miles in his arms, still bundled in the sleeping bag, was sort of strange. Phoenix frowned though, he didn't have a dad to pick him up like that._

_ "What will you do for Christmas?" Mom asked Mister Edgeworth._

_ "We'll be alright," Mister Edgeworth said, "There's more to life than fancy dinners and lights and trees…"_

_ "Gregory," Mom put her hand on Mister Edgeworth's arm, "It's for the children, and you can't brush it off like that. One day, you'll turn around and he'll be grown and he'll have lost any chance to build good memories. Don't do that to him."_

_ "We'll be alright," Mister Edgeworth repeated, "Good night."_

_ "Merry Christmas," Mom said, "The invitation still stands, if you decide to change your mind."_

_ Mom closed the door and walked toward the sofa. She looked very sad. Phoenix came out of hiding and joined her on the sofa. She didn't say anything to him but put her arm around him._

_ "Are you okay, mom?" Phoenix said._

_ "Yeah," she said._

_ "What's going on, Mom? How come Miles is always here?" Phoenix asked._

_ "Mister Edgeworth is a Defense Attorney, and he's got a very important client. A famous Chef. The trial has been going on for a long time, but everyone feels it'll be over soon—so he's busier than he usually is. Miles' usually stays with his Aunt when his father is busy, but she's sick—very sick."_

_ Phoenix was surprised, he didn't want to know quite that much, "Are they going to have Christmas Dinner with us?"_

_ "I don't know, Nick," Mom said._

_ "Do you like Mister Edgeworth, mom?"_

_ Mom laughed, "When did you learn to be so naughty? On Christmas Eve too."_

_ "Well," Phoenix said, "Santa has his work cut out for him. It's too late for him to change his mind about me, isn't it?"_

_ Mom rumpled his hair, "You're sneaky too."_

_ "Mom, what would you do if Dad came back?"_

_ "Phoenix," Mom frowned, "After this much time, I wouldn't hope for anything good."_

_ "This was like the most boring Christmas ever," Phoenix said, "We should go somewhere next Christmas."_

_ "Well, we'll just have to see," Mom said._

* * *

The courtroom was crowded, but somehow, Edgeworth seemed to have the hook-up. People moved aside for him and seats were reserved for him in the observer's seating. Their seats gave them a wide view of the courtroom and Phoenix was tickled to see the defense table from the prosecution's side.

"Do you know who's defending this clown?" Phoenix said flipping open the top of the box that held his cinnamon roll.

"Grossberg," Edgeworth said.

"Really?" Phoenix said, "Want some?"

"No," Edgeworth said.

"You don't want to share in the sweet taste of your investment?"

"Wright, stop it," Edgeworth said and he pulled a legal pad out of his attaché and readied himself to take notes.

"They're so good," Phoenix said, "You're missing out."

Edgeworth made a derisive noise.

"So, why would Grossberg take on such a hopeless case?"

Edgeworth shrugged, "Money, probably. Attorney's get paid whether they win or lose—at least, a well known one would."

Phoenix glared at Edgeworth, his cheek swollen with pastry, was Edgeworth making a crack at him? Edgeworth shot him a sidelong glance a small smile played on his lips.

"Pay attention, Wright," he said, "the trial is about to begin, you might learn something. I think you'll find that this case is not as open and shut as it seems."

"Mmmph," Phoenix said and shoved another forkful of cinnamon roll into his mouth.

**January 3, 10:00 A.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 1**

"**Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Shady K. Rector," the judge said.**

"**The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," Winston Payne said.**

"That guy's still around?" Phoenix said.

"**Your Honor, the Defense is quite prepared," Marvin Grossberg said.**

"**Marvin," the Judge said, "It's been a while."**

"**Yes it has been Your Honor," Grossberg replied, "But I assure you, I've still got it."**

"**I'm sure," the judge chuckled, "Now, shall we begin? Mr. Payne? Your opening statement?"**

"**Good morning," Payne said, "the defendant Mr. Rector, would have you believe that he is an upstanding citizen—a model citizen—and Mr. Rector would have you believe that he strives only to reform others who have lost their way. But Mr. Rector, is not being tried for his contributions to society. He's not on trial for his charity, philanthropy, or his general goodwill to all citizens. He is not on trial because he believes in second chances. No. Mr. Shady K. Rector is on trial for murder. Multiple murders—"**

"**OBJECTION!" Grossberg said, "Your honor, my client is on trial today for two murders. The defense asks that the prosecution refrain from implicating him in any other cases that have yet to be verified."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said, "Mr. Payne, please get on with it. The court doesn't wish to waste time on theatrics."**

Phoenix's eyes glittered. Edgeworth frowned, "I warned him about that. People get silly when they know it's going to be on TV."

"**Yes, Your Honor," Payne said, "The prosecution wishes to call it's first witness."**

"**Very well," the Judge said.**

"This is going to be on TV?" Phoenix asked.

"Yes," Edgeworth said.

"**The prosecution calls detective Bruce Goodman," Payne said, "Detective Goodman is the presiding detective on this investigation."**

Detective Goodman walked up to the stand with a file under his arm. There was a hush over the courtroom as the bailiff swore him in. Then he took the stand.

"**Ahem. Please state your name and occupation for the record," Payne said.**

"**Bruce Goodman. I'm a Detective in the Homicide Division of Criminal Affairs in this district. I was appointed by the Head Detective to lead the investigation in this case," Goodman said.**

"**Were you the first responder in this case?" Payne said.**

"**No," Goodman said.**

"**Will you relay the details of this case to the court?" Payne said.**

"**Yes," Goodman said, "On the morning of December 28th, the bodies of two victims, one male and one female were discovered on a private beach in Carmel, California. A tourist, staying in the same resort as the two victims, made the discovery. He was the one who phoned the local police. A preliminary autopsy revealed that both victims died of strangulation. The male victim was identified by Carmel Police to be Joe W. Bloe and the female as his wife Ami Bloe—formally Ami Krassy. Both victims have had past convictions and prison time on their records. The two of them met on an online dating service called Reformed and Reborn dot com. This service caters exclusively to former convicts. The defendant Mr. Shady K. Rector is one of the founders of this web service and currently works as the Lead Accounts Manager. On the date in question, Mr. Shady K. Rector was absent from his workplace. Mr. Rector—as Lead Accounts Manager—was the only one who had access to all profiles registered with the website."**

"Whoa…" Phoenix said.

"See, it's rather complicated," Edgeworth said.

"**I don't see how you placed Mr. Rector at the scene of the murders," the Judge said.**

"**Your Honor," Payne said, "We have the guest records for the hotel stating that a John Doe checked into the resort at approximately 4:28 P.M. on December 26 and did not check out until 11:47 P.M. on the 27th. John Doe paid in cash when he checked out. At 4:17 P.M. on December 26th, the ATM in the hotel lobby registered a transaction for the amount of $1102.25 from Mr. Rector's account. This places Mr. Rector at the scene on the afternoon before the murder. This photo, taken from the ATM camera, also confirms that the guest registered as 'John Doe' was the same person who used the ATM—Mr. Shady K. Rector."**

Phoenix put his cinnamon roll box on the floor and took a notepad from his briefcase.

"Hey Edgeworth," he said, "Let me borrow a pen."

"Eww no," Edgeworth said, "Your hands are all sticky."

"They are not," Phoenix said, "I had a fork."

Edgeworth leaned down to grab a pen from his bag and reluctantly handed it over.

"**Well, that's pretty convincing evidence," the Judge said, "I don't think we really need to prolong this trial—"**

"**OBJECTION!" Grossberg said, "Your Honor, while the prosecution has firmly established the presence of my client at the facility in which the murder occurred, there is no evidence to suggest that my client had any interaction with the victims."**

"**OBJECTION!" Payne said, "He managed accounts for the web service that brought Joe Bloe and Ami Krassy together. He knew their personal information—"**

"**OBJECTION!" Grossberg said, "He was successful! With an online dating service, there is no higher testament of success than marriage. He was planning to use their testimonial in his ad campaign. Why would Mr. Rector kill his own clientele? He had absolutely nothing to gain, and therefore no motive!"**

Grossberg's jowls quivered in the passion of his argument and Phoenix put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Edgeworth glared at him.

"See," he hissed, "Now you've got a sugar high."

"**OBJECTION!" Payne said, "No one else in that resort new both victims! AND the defendant has a criminal history!"**

Edgeworth put his head down, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, and groaned.

"What is it?" Phoenix asked.

"Payne tends to lose it when he's excited," Edgeworth said, "The defendant's history is not on trial. What we want to prove is that he did indeed kill that couple."

"Do you think he's guilty?" Phoenix asked, "Because Grossberg made several good points."

"But why would you pay for two nights at a resort and then leave early?" Edgeworth said.

Phoenix frowned.

"Sometimes the easy road is fraught with greater danger," Edgeworth said cryptically.

Phoenix made at face at him, but Edgeworth was glaring at Payne. Payne was tapping his bald spot and even from their vantage, Phoenix could tell that the man was starting to sweat.

"**I see. So there is a lot more ground to cover in this case," the Judge said, "Detective Goodman,"**

"**Yes, Your Honor," Goodman replied.**

"**I want to hear your testimony on how the murder occurred," the judge said.**

**"How?" Goodman said, "Yes, Your Honor. The victims were discovered on the beach at 8 A.M. both with ligatures still wrapped around their throats. The initial autopsy confirmed that strangulation was the cause of death for both victims. Later toxicology reports also revealed that both victims had a cocktail of prescription and illegal drugs and alcohol in their systems. However, though the victims were both very intoxicated, the report ruled out overdose as the cause of death. Drowning was also ruled out as the cause of death."**

"Ah," Edgeworth said, "I've got it. He's guilty."

"What?" Phoenix said, "All that testimony did was build a bigger mystery…"

"Yes," Edgeworth said, "That's probably why Payne shied away from using it in the first place."

** "Mr. Grossberg," the Judge said, "Your cross-examination."**

"Okay," Phoenix said, "So tell me what you think happened?"

** "Detective," Grossberg said, "Can you elaborate on the 'ligature' that you said was found on the victims' necks?"**

"Rope," Edgeworth said, "like the kind used for securing small motorized boats."

** "Rope," Detective Goodman said, "Thick rope, used to tie up boats."**

"The defendant invited them onto the boat, two of his most successful clients," Edgeworth said, "They were already high on some mixture of prescription drugs and alcohol—I didn't look at the toxicology report."

** "And detective," Grossberg continued, "You said a toxicology report was done on the victims?"**

"They were drinking—a lot—it was just after their Christmas wedding after all. Rector made a move on Ami—but the blushing new bride wasn't having it—she'd already found her perfect match. Embarrassed and worried that the couple would talk, he strangled her with his hands and when Joe came looking for her, Rector killed him too. He tied the rope around their necks and dropped them into the water and then came back to shore, hoping it would look like a drowning. When he came ashore, he cut the rope and they washed onto the beach, where our tourist found them. That's why he left the hotel before midnight, he wanted to get as far away as he could." Edgeworth smiled a little and pointed at Phoenix.

**"Yes, sir," Goodman said, "the Toxicology report revealed elevated levels of 3-methylmorphine, barbituric acid, MDMA, and sildenafil citrate. Blood alcohol was also elevated. Though the levels in the blood of both victims was significant it was determined that the presence of these substances were not fatal."**

"I don't believe you," Phoenix said.

**"But how intoxicated were they?" Grossman said, "I don't speak gobbledygook, detective, can you clarify?"**

"Isn't it obvious? Why didn't Grossberg ask about the rope? Or the boat? He's protecting his client." Edgeworth said.

"You're the only one who's said anything about a boat," Phoenix said.

**"Yes," the Judge said, "I've never even heard of gobbledygook."**

** "Yes, okay," Goodman said, "Bloe's BAC was above 0.2 percent—that's high enough to cause a stupor. Not to mention the presence of 3-methylmorphine—which is an opiate most likely found in prescription medications. MDMA is more commonly known as Ecstasy, which is an illegal drug, used recreationally. It can cause euphoria and stimulate mood. Sildenafil Citrate is not something we normally test for, but based on medications we found in the victim's room, we asked for it to be included. It's a… Um…"**

"A drug that treats erectile dysfunction," Edgeworth said.

Phoenix glared at him, "How do you know that? What have you been doing?"

Edgeworth blushed, "I read Winston's report—don't be stupid!"

**The judge pounded his gavel.**

** "Order, please! Go on detective."**

** "The most common brand name is Viagra," Goodman choked out.**

** "I see," said the Judge, "They were really partying."**

"Wow, that Judge can be such a creepy old man sometimes," Phoenix said.

**"So detective," Grossberg said, "With that much garbage in their systems, do you think it likely that these two were very much in control of their actions that night? It was night, correct?"**

** "Wait," said the Judge, "When did you officially establish time of death?"**

** "Uh," Goodman looked at the Judge and then at Grossberg.**

** "Go on, detective, answer the Judge," Grossberg said.**

"But another thing is also perfectly clear," Edgeworth said.

"What's that?" Phoenix said.

"This isn't a serial murder," Edgeworth said.

**"The time of death was determined to be between the hours of 10:00 P.M.-11:30 P.M. on the night of December 27****th****," Goodman said, "And no, Mr. Grossberg, the victims were not in any condition to make sound judgment."**

** "And would you agree detective," Grossberg said, "that it is quite possible that the victims merely died in an unfortunate accident?"**

** "Um," Goodman said.**

"Object you idiot!" Edgeworth said.

Phoenix waved his notepad in Payne's direction and the nervous prosecutor glanced up to see him and Edgeworth mouthing the word "Objection" and pointing.

**"It's possible that the two of them—"**

** "OBJECTION!" Payne said, "The cause of death was strangulation! How can they have 'accidentally' strangled themselves?"**

**"They were found tangled in ropes!" Grossberg said.**

** "Oh, right," said the Judge.**

**"B-b-but!" Payne said.**

** "Your Honor," Grossberg said, "My client happened to be at the wrong place at the right time. True, he has a passing connection to both victims, but he has over two thousand clients. These victims were obviously in no condition to go boating and yet they chose to do so—in the middle of the night no less. Their deaths were simply a tragic accident."**

** The judge pounded the gavel, "Very well, does the prosecution have a rebuttal?"**

"He better have one!" Edgeworth said. Phoenix frowned at him, he'd never seen Edgeworth so livid—at least not up close. Was this what he was like when they faced off in court? Edgeworth slammed his clenched fists into the legal pad on his lap. Edgeworth's eyes were focused on Payne as if he could telepathically send him the right thing to say.

Phoenix cleared his throat, "Uh, relax Edgeworth, I think the judge is staring at us."

Edgeworth glared at the Judge instead and Phoenix saw the old man startle. Edgeworth's eye twitched and Phoenix swallowed.

**"Well?" the Judge pounded his gavel again, "I will allow a five-minute recess, so that the prosecution can think about this rebuttal. Meanwhile, the two hooligans sitting front and left—you know who you are—I want to see you in my chambers immediately! Five-minute recess." He slammed his gavel down once more and the courtroom erupted in chatter.**

"Hooligans?" Edgeworth said.

"Does he mean us?" Phoenix said.

"I think so," Edgeworth said.

They got up and crossed the courtroom and Phoenix saw Edgeworth slap Payne with his legal pad as they passed the prosecution's table. He dropped his pad when he did so but did not stop to retrieve it.

"What's going on?" Phoenix said.

"Hopefully, he just tells us to leave and we won't be held in contempt," Edgeworth said.

"Why—?"

"Apparently we're hooligans," Edgeworth said.

The bailiff gave them a baleful stare as they passed and Phoenix let Edgeworth knock on the chamber door. The old man was frowning behind his desk. Phoenix had never seen him without his robes and he must've had a shocked look on his face, because the Judge rounded on him first.

"This is a courtroom not a playground!" The Judge said. Phoenix stepped back from the desk a few steps.

"Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "I'm dreadfully sorry for any disruption we might have caused, I assure you—"

"Edgeworth! Is that you?" The Judge grinned and Phoenix took another step back.

"Yes, Your honor," Edgeworth said.

"Who's this miscreant? Are you friends?"

"Your Honor, this is Phoenix Wright," Edgeworth said.

"Oh, that sounds familiar," the Judge said.

Phoenix sulked, didn't this guy preside over the Hammond Murder Trial less than a week ago—a trial that he, Phoenix Wright, had won?

"Well," the Judge said, "It's buzzing in the courtroom today—because of this Honeymoon Trial. The television station is here even. I can't have you two in my courtroom whispering to each other during the trial. It's unseemly and distracting. This is a warning, do not return after this recess, or you two will be held in contempt. Understand?"

"Yes, Your honor," Edgeworth said and Phoenix noticed that his face looked heated. Edgeworth was really upset.

"And you?" The Judge looked at Phoenix and Phoenix backed into a bookcase.

"Y-yes Your Honor," Phoenix said.

"Oh and Edgeworth, I will tell Von Karma about this," the Judge said.

"Yes, Your Honor," Edgeworth said and he seemed to cool down a little.

"Is he going to visit him in prison?" Phoenix asked when they left the courthouse.

Edgeworth was still sulking as they descended the courthouse steps.

"He won't remember to tell him anything," Edgeworth said.

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "I shouldn't have come."

Edgeworth shook his head, "I shouldn't have come."

"But you love this, stuff," Phoenix said, "Right? Don't you?"

"That Rector is a murderer," Edgeworth said, "But Grossberg is good—really good. He's probably going to go free."

"You don't know that," Phoenix said, "Have a little faith, Edgeworth, justice will prevail."

"Not if we can't drag the truth out of Rector," Edgeworth said, "Justice is a myth. It's subjective. But truth is tangible, you can touch it, taste it."

"I would really like to taste some lunch," Phoenix said and stopped at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

Edgeworth crossed his arms and kept walking. Phoenix frowned, Edgeworth was walking like a wounded man. He wasn't even prosecuting this trial, and it tore him up that it wasn't going his way. Phoenix caught him and put his hand on Edgeworth's shoulder. Edgeworth seemed to go rigid at his touch.

"Hey," Phoenix said, "You can't beat all of them. You can't be at every trial. You won't catch every bad guy. Not by yourself."

"Get your hand off of me Wright," Edgeworth said.

"Are you going to be angry at me, now?" Phoenix said but he took his hand away and crossed his arms. He stared intently at Edgeworth's face, willing the other man to look at him.

"This is why, I've decided not to take another case... ever," Phoenix said, and Edgeworth finally looked at him. "I don't like this. I feel like I eat sleep and breathe this crap all day everyday and that I'm watered down from it. I can't be me anymore."

"This is all that I am," Edgeworth replied, "You take this away, and what am I?"

Phoenix frowned at him, that was probably the most fucked up thing he'd ever heard Edgeworth say. Edgeworth must've have taken his shocked silence for fear or disgust or one of the few emotions that Edgeworth seemed to be familiar with-all involving creases between his eyebrows and some degree of downturned mouth-because Edgeworth turned away.

"Hey Edgeworth!" Phoenix shouted after him, but Edgeworth kept walking.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Another Phoenix Chapter… Maggey would've been 20 or 21 at that point. Yeah, Phoenix being a scrub is a little OoC… But sometimes it just happens…_

_I chose Goodman as my detective in the trial, because I just couldn't imagine Gumshoe describing a toxicology report._

_Updated: 08SEP2012_


	8. Face Your Fear

**Chapter 8**

**Face Your Fear**

_"Ah, Mister Gregory Edgeworth," Miles looked up at the man and involuntarily stepped behind his father's leg._

"_Prosecutor Von Karma," Dad replied and he nodded curtly. The creepy man looked at Miles and grinned wickedly._

"_You've brought your little spawn with you, I see," Von Karma said, "You realize this is a courthouse and not a schoolhouse?"_

"_Sir," Dad said so polite that it seemed like he was mocking, "It's Christmas, I can't leave the boy by himself."_

"_What are you called boy?" Von Karma said._

_Miles opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out._

"_Mister Von Karma," Dad said, "My son doesn't talk to strangers."_

_Von Karma laughed and Miles squeezed his father's hand with both of his. Dad nodded again and led Miles away. Miles looked back once as they entered the defendant's lobby and the man was still staring at them._

"_Dad," Miles whispered._

"_You have to be good and stay quiet and out of the way," Dad told him._

"_Ah, Edgeworth," said the only other person in the room besides the guards._

"_Mr. Tenkai," Dad said, "You remember my son Miles?"_

_Mr. Tenkai frowned, "I'm sorry you're spending your Christmas here."_

"_I like it here," Miles said, "When I become a lawyer, I'll be here all the time."_

_The two men laughed. Then Dad took Mister Tenkai aside and Miles was left standing alone. He looked up at the large doors that led into the courtroom and then at each of the guards standing on either side of the entrance. One guard smiled at him and Miles smiled back nervously and glanced at his father._

_This would be his third trial, but this case seemed more serious than the others. Mr. Tenkai was very nice, and Miles was certain he was innocent of the crime. Miles looked at his Dad and Dad looked worried._

"_Miles," Dad said, "It's time, come on, I'll take you to your seat."_

* * *

It was 6:43 in the morning, and Miles jogged down the stairs to the parking garage, still tugging on his coat. He jumped into his car and tore out of the garage and into the still gray morning.

He arrived at the precinct just after seven and marched straight into the Criminal Affairs Department. There were very few detectives in yet. Miles set his attaché on the nearest desk and took off his coat. He stood there, arms crossed and glaring around the room until someone acknowledged him.

"Morning Mister Edgeworth," she was a female detective whose name Edgeworth never bothered remembering. She smiled at him, "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Is Goodman in?" Miles asked.

"He should be soon," she said, "He didn't get out of court until almost six P.M. last night, and he was here pretty late last night—but he said he was going to try and come in early."

"Do you think you can let me into the conference room—the one the task force—"

"I'm sorry Mister Edgeworth, it isn't your case—or mine," she said.

She walked off to brew some coffee and Miles was left alone to watch every detective that trickled in. He was checking his watch at 7:38 A.M. when a grinning Gumshoe walked in carrying two boxes of doughnuts.

"Detective Gumshoe," Miles said and forced a smile, "Good Morning."

"Morning Sir!" Gumshoe said setting the doughnut boxes down and opening them, "You're here early. Want a doughnut?"

"No," Miles said, "I want a look at the Honeymoon Investigation."

"Sorry Pal—Edgeworth, sir," Gumshoe said picking out a doughnut and frowning, "Goodman's in charge of that case."

"The case that's gone to trial—not the serial murders," Miles corrected, "Didn't you say the precinct had a task force—"

"It's all the same case, isn't it?" Gumshoe chomped down on his doughnut and went to see if there was coffee. Miles crossed his arms impatiently and glared at the wall. Gumshoe returned with a steaming mug of coffee and he was shoving the last bit of doughnut into his mouth. Miles was glaring at him.

"I'm sure no one would mind it if you lent a hand," Gumshoe said looking at Miles nervously from behind his raised coffee cup. Miles nodded at Gumshoe.

Gumshoe led him to a small conference room off of the large Criminal Affairs open floor. Files, photos, and bagged evidence were piled on a center table, laid out as if the people working the case had stepped out only for a moment. Gumshoe eagerly approached a large butcher paper block where note cards had been taped and lines drawn to show relationships between them. Gumshoe grinned at Miles.

"We did this last night," he said, "Goodman had a lot of new ideas after the trial yesterday."

Miles said nothing but studied the case laid out on the butcher paper display, frowning slightly.

"What's he doing here?" Miles turned to look at the source of the complaint. It was patrolman Marshall.

Miles turned back toward the case layout and crossed his arms, "The real question, people, is why a mere patrolman is involved in a major investigation like this at all?"

Marshall lunged at him but Gumshoe grabbed him. Miles turned and glared at the patrolman struggling half-heartedly in the big detective's arms.

"You know this isn't my first serial murder case!" Marshall said.

"Yes," Miles said.

"Chief asked me to help out," Marshall said.

Miles raised an eyebrow, "Did he?"

"Yes," Marshall said and then he faltered, "I mean sort of…"

Miles crossed his arms as if pondering this new bit of information, "Sort of?"

"W-well," Marshall said, "Goodman requested me. Chief granted the request."

Miles looked at the baleful Gumshoe and shrugged, "Drop him."

"Pompous devil," Marshall muttered as he straightened his uniform and other accoutrements.

Miles smirked at little at that, "Devil, was it? I haven't been called that in a while."

He'd turned his attention back to the chart. Marshall sat in a chair and fumed for a while, until Goodman came in with another detective Miles didn't recognize.

"Good morning," Goodman said stiffly. Miles only spared him a glance.

No one spoke and the air in the small conference room was palpable and uncomfortable. Several of the detectives seated startled when Winston Payne entered.

"Sorry I'm late," Payne began and then he must've noticed Miles' presence, "Oh. Edgeworth, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to solve your case," Miles said matter-of-fact, "Surely, you'd like to bring this travesty to an end sometime in the coming year?"

Payne made a face, no else spoke. Miles was still looking at the chart. He was leaning against the table with his arms crossed. The group waited for several long minutes glancing now and again at the quiet prosecutor. Slowly they began to discuss things amongst themselves.

"Yesterday—before they got kicked out—_he _brought this to my attention," Payne was saying.

"We did find a receipt for a boat rental, in the defendant's name," Goodman said, "There were no holes in the argument. But with Rector convicted in this case, we're having a hell of a time tying the other murders—"

"Rector's not your man," Miles said and several of the detectives and the other prosecutor jumped. Miles straightened and turned to the group, he slammed a hand down on the table, "Your focus on Rector is what's holding this whole investigation back."

"His M.O. was the same as—" Goodman started.

Miles' glare was enough to shut him up. Miles took off his jacket and straightened his vest. Then he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, "Let's get to work."

* * *

_"I hope it's not too late dad," Miles said. His face was pressed against the car window looking at the now familiar neighborhood glittering with lights and subdued in the solemn cold._

_ Dad didn't seem too happy after the trial, but he didn't say anything to Miles about it, and Miles was pretty sure he didn't want to ask. Besides, it was Christmas and they were going to have dinner with friends. Ever since Mom died, Christmas had been pretty quiet, and Miles was excited—and Phoenix's mom was a good cook._

_ There were other cars parked in front of the house when they arrived. Miles waited for Dad to get that bag out of the trunk, tapping his foot impatiently._

_ "Dad! We're already late!" Miles said and Dad only smiled and touched the brim of his hat._

_ "What is that anyway?" Miles said, "What is that bag for?"_

_ "It's from Santa," Dad said and took him by the hand to lead him inside._

_ "Dad," Miles said, "I know Santa's not real. There's no evidence—"_

_ "Miles… I don't want to hear anymore about evidence tonight," Dad said._

_ Miles frowned, "I'm sorry—"_

_ Dad mussed Miles' hair with a gloved hand and rang the doorbell. Miles could hear music and laughing inside._

_ "Greg?" Phoenix's mom said, "We didn't think you'd make it."_

_ "I'm sorry if we're intruding—"_

_ "Nonsense! Come in!"_

_ "Merry Christmas," Dad handed the bag to Phoenix's mom._

_ "You shouldn't have."_

_ Miles followed them inside and looked around for Phoenix. Phoenix was laughing on the sofa with Jilly Baxter and her little brother. Miles frowned a little at that and took a little longer to remove his coat and his shoes than he usually did. Dad had followed Phoenix's mom to the back of the room where they added the wrapped presents from Dad's bag to the pile under the tree._

_ "Hey Miles!" Phoenix said, "Hurry up already!"_

* * *

Miles shut the car and locked it with the remote on his key fob. He started across the parking lot but paused to look up at the sound of another door slam. The police chief Damon Gant had also arrived at the Prosecutor's Building. Miles put his head down and walked faster.

"Worthy! Is that you?" Gant said. Miles pretended not to hear him—the door to the stairwell was so close.

"Edgeworth!" Gant's voice boomed across the parking lot. Miles paused to fix his face into one of mild surprise and then he turned to look at the man.

"Chief," he said, "I didn't see you." Miles forced a smile and waited for the man to catch him up.

"Worthy my boy," Gant said with a wolfish grin, "Just the man I came to see."

"Oh?" Miles said with affected interest.

"I just had a chat with Detective Goodman," Gant put an arm over Miles' shoulder, "I like it! I love the direction you're taking with the investigation."

"Ah," Miles said and shrugged out of the Police Chief's hold. He put a hand on the door to the stairwell.

"You know Worthy, I love how you think," Gant continued, "You're a lot like me, you know?"

"Oh, heh," Miles said and opened the door.

"Aren't you on the twelfth floor with Lana?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"So why are you taking the stairs?"

"Well, the elevator's broken again," Miles said casually. Unfortunately, the elevator dinged and a couple of ladies from the secretary pool came giggling out of it.

"It looks fine now," Gant said and dragged Miles by the arm along with him toward the elevator.

"What was I saying? Ah, I want you on this case. You're the only one I can—"

Gant pressed the call button again and Miles pulled away from him.

"I-I really don't—" Miles stammered.

Gant looked at him strangely and then looked at the elevator.

"Edgeworth," Gant said glaring at him directly, "Don't tell me you're frightened of elevators?"

Miles glared back at him, "I'll see you in a few minutes then, I'm going to take the stairs."

"You are, aren't you?"

Miles answered with a look and turned to walk away. Gant laughed and grabbed his arm again.

"I don't have all day, I was hoping to keep this meeting brief," Gant said, "Besides that is such a childish fear to have."

Miles glared at the man, "I can make my floor in less than seven minutes."

"Aren't you the athlete?" Gant laughed again and the dreaded ding sounded and the doors slid open. Gant didn't argue any further, but dragged Miles inside.

"Chief I—"

"Nonsense!" Gant said and looked at Miles square in the face, "You need to face your fears! Be a man, Worthy!"

Miles could feel the breath catch in his throat. Gant pushed the 'twelve' button and the doors closed. Miles swallowed and put his back to the wall and dropped his briefcase to grab the railing with both hands.

"Now," Gant said, moving to stand beside him, "I mean what I said, Worthy, you're the only one that I can trust to bring a conviction in this—Edgeworth?"

Miles watched the numbers count up and wondered why they seemed to go so slowly when they seemed to be going so fast. His legs were shaking. He couldn't feel his knees. He couldn't breathe.

Suddenly Gant had his arms around him again, "My boy… Don't think about it. If you just try not to focus on the fact that you're in an elevator it won't bother you. Look at me!"

Miles turned away from the angry digital four that just flashed to five and looked at the Police Chief. Gant looked very much like a worried old grandpa and Miles might've chuckled if he wasn't choking.

"I can't—" Miles panted.

"Yes you can," Gant said, "So stand up and take a breath."

Miles tried to pull away from him, "Let go of me!"

"See," Gant said, "How can you shout if you can't breathe?"

Miles whimpered pitifully, he was dizzy now and he felt as if his stomach had dropped. His vision blurred and the red blob in his sight resolved itself into the number eight before he lost focus again. He continued to fight weakly at Gant's grip—even though the Chief's hold on him was probably the only thing keeping him standing.

Miles tried to pull away and reach for the emergency stop.

"Relax," Gant said, "You're being silly."

Darkness started to crowd his vision—was the elevator going to break down?

"It's flashing! It's going to—"

"We're almost there, nothing's wrong."

"I can't—" Miles panted.

He was shaking all over now and his hands tingled like they'd fallen asleep. He couldn't move—couldn't control them. The car lurched and Miles gagged and tugged at his cravat. Then the ding sounded. The door slid open and Miles bolted for his office.

He slammed the door and only made it a few steps before crumpling to the floor. He gasped a few times before everything went black.

He came to, in over bright light. Someone was snapping their fingers near his ears. For a moment that was the only sound he heard and it seemed to echo through his buzzing thoughts. Then the world flooded in around him in colors and voices.

"He's conscious," she was a girl—a pretty girl, an angel—no, an EMT.

"Oh, thank heaven," he recognized the voice of his secretary.

"Hello?" the EMT said.

Miles stared up at her. He was still trembling.

"Can you tell me your name?" EMT girl said. Her eyes were so brown.

"M-miles," Miles said, "My name is Miles."

"Good, how do you feel?" she said. Miles closed his eyes again and didn't answer her.

"Miles?" she said, "Stay with me."

"I feel bad," Miles said.

"Go on, open your eyes," EMT said, "Look at me. You had a panic attack, Miles. You passed out."

"Sorry," Miles said. But he opened his eyes and looked at her again. Somebody was grabbing his arm. He tried to sit up.

"Just relax, Miles," EMT said, "We need to take your blood pressure again."

"What's your name?" Miles said and the EMT smiled at him.

"Good, Miles, you're coming around," she said, "Do you feel any pain? We want to make sure you didn't hit your head or anything."

"No," Miles said.

"How is he?" Another woman's voice—Chief Skye—said.

"Um," EMT said, "We should take him to the hospital."

EMT walked away to talk to Lana. Then Miles noticed the other EMT standing on his other side. The man was looking at his watch and pressing his neck. The man nodded at him and took his arm to put a blood pressure cuff on him. Miles noticed that his arm was bare—he'd been stripped down to his t-shirt. There was blood on his hand.

"What?" Miles said.

"You had a nosebleed," the male EMT said, "just relax so I can do this."

Miles lay back while the cuff tightened squeezing his arm. He looked at the ceiling above him. He was in Von Karma's office. Miles started to tremble again.

Snap! Snap!

"Hey," male EMT said, "Stay with me."

"Any change?" female EMT was beside him again.

"It's coming up… Slowly," male EMT said, "Very slowly, he almost fainted again."

"I didn't faint," Miles said.

Male EMT chuckled, "Good job buddy, just keep talking."

"I didn't faint," Miles repeated, "I must've passed out."

"Yes," female EMT said, "You passed out. But I don't think you hit your head."

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this," Miles said to her, "My name is Miles."

She giggled and male EMT made a derisive noise at her.

Miles had put on his shirt and vest even though the collar of his shirt was bloodied. The cravat needed to be burned; it looked more like a used bandage than anything now. It was difficult to convince them not to take him to the hospital, but he wasn't eager to spend any more time in elevators today. Especially if he had to be strapped to a gurney.

The worst part was trying to convince everyone that he was fine and he'd be so much better if they just left him alone. After the EMTs left, it took another twenty minutes or so to get everyone out. Miles closed his eyes and put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. What a humiliating day.

He put his black-socked feet up on the arm of the sofa and stretched himself out. He grabbed his jacket and covered his chest and shoulders and stared at the ceiling. This used to be Von Karma's office. The desk was his own. The few articles of decoration were the same ones that Gumshoe had helped him drag over from his old office next door. But still, this used to be Von Karma's office, and no amount of covering up would change that.

Miles dug in his jacket for his phone and searched his contacts. He dialed. After a few rings she answered.

"It's me," Miles said into the receiver, "Miles Edgeworth…"

Franziska didn't hang up on him, nor did she scream.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Miles… Back to his old self… for now…_

_Same disclaimers apply, I just got tired of seeing it on top of every chapter... When I go back to fix them, I'll remove all but the first._


	9. Travesty and Terror

**Chapter 9**

**Travesty and Terror**

_Miles was still frowning after the trial. Dad was withdrawn, and even his grip on Miles' hand seemed tentative and fragile, and Miles struggled to maintain that grip as if he would lose his father forever if he let go._

_ The courtroom was bedlam after the verdict was called and the judge slammed his gavel, cementing the decision forever. The crowd frightened Miles as they surged forward to talk to the lawyers and make their comments for the hungry television audience awaiting the news. Dad was mixed up there in the crowd and Miles was still there in the audience seating behind the defense table while the sea of mad humanity filled the space between them._

_ Mr. Tenkai's poufy hair was visible above everyone and it bobbed in the crowd. Miles recognized his father's forehead and stood on his chair. The bailiff was already leading Mr. Tenkai away. That Prosecutor was following them. Before they exited the doors, the Prosecutor turned to gaze over the crowd. Miles could've sworn the man saw him standing on the chair forsaken because he grinned in Miles' direction, and Miles blanched. Manfred von Karma had an evil smile._

_ Miles almost cried standing there calling for his Dad. Dad came finally and lifted him from where he stood and Miles put his arms around his neck. Dad just stood where he was, waiting for the crowd to thin. Miles pressed his face against his father's shoulder, he felt like no one could see him—like he was safe. Finally Miles lifted his head._

_ "Dad," he said, "What happened?"_

_ Dad shook his head; his focus was on the rapidly emptying courtroom, "Injustice, Miles, injustice and a failure of the system."_

_ Miles was shocked and a little confused, Dad didn't say things like that, Dad always believed in the law._

_ Dad didn't put Miles down until they entered the corridor. It was quiet and empty as they made their way toward the elevator. Miles held his father's hand in both of his. It seemed like Dad would fall away._

_ "Dad?" Miles said but his father kept walking._

_ There was already someone waiting for the elevator when they arrived. It was one of the court bailiffs. _

_ "Evening Mister Edgeworth," the man said and offered Miles a friendly smile._

_ "Yanni," Dad said._

_ "Don't look so down, Sir," Yanni said, "Von Karma's never lost a trial in twenty-five years."_

_ Dad glared at Yanni for several moments before turning to press the call button, even though it had already been activated._

_ "Doesn't mean he's always right," Dad said looking at the floor._

_ Yanni only frowned and the three of them stood in uncomfortable silence until the elevator announced its arrival with a ding. The doors slid open ominously and Dad tapped Miles on the shoulder to coax him inside._

_ "Lobby, sir?" Yanni said brightly._

_ "Yes, please," Dad replied._

_ "You fellas got any plans for the New Year?" Yanni said as the doors slid closed._

_ Miles' grip on his father's hand tightened as the car lurched into motion. He wasn't overly fond of elevators._

_ "Rest," Dad said and chuckled, "Miles wanted to go to the zoo. I think it's a fine time to go."_

_ Miles relaxed and smiled up at his father._

_ "Polly wants to go to that concert," Yanni said, "The one on New Year's Eve, with all the movie stars and they count down the time until New Year."_

_ "Ah," Dad said and he patted Miles on the head, "Fortunately I have a few years before I'll be asked to attend one of those."_

_ Both men laughed. Then the lights went out and the car stopped with a lurch. Miles was thrown toward the back of the car. But the shaking didn't stop and the noise of scraping metal filled the car with ear-splitting whines and bangs. Something made a snap and hit the top of the car and it went into a freefall. It must have only lasted a second, but it seemed to fall forever. Miles stayed on the floor, pressed into a corner, hugging himself and quaking with fear._

_ Then suddenly it stopped. A few seconds passed and a dim red light lit the car. Miles opened his eyes and saw his father wiping his glasses with his tie. Yanni was pressed against the door hoping to pry it open._

_ "It… wont… budge…" _

_ "Daddy!" Miles screamed._

_ "Miles, don't panic, come here," Dad sat on the floor and held out his arms to Miles. The boy was too frightened to stand and walk so he crawled to his father on all fours._

_ Yanni sat across from them frowning and scratching his head, "Must've been an earthquake."_

_ "I think you're right," Dad said holding Miles close._

_ "How long do you think it will take before they find us?" Yanni said._

_ "I don't know," Dad said, "But they'll come soon enough—don't worry."_

_ "I hope so—Polly'll be upset if I'm late."_

_ "I'm sure she'll understand," Dad said._

* * *

Miles just glared at her as she pushed past him and entered his office.

"You slept here?" Chief Prosecutor Skye said.

"It would seem," Miles said. In fact her knocking was what woke him. He was still wearing his rumpled vest and the bloodied shirt. He ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair and it fell mostly into place. The Chief Prosecutor was watching him with what looked like barely disguised amusement.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," she said. Miles didn't think she sounded sorry. One could never tell with her—she was a rock.

It wasn't unheard of for him to stay overnight at the office, and Miles was prepared for this at least. He took a fresh shirt and his toiletry kit from his desk and brushed past Chief Skye as he went into the bathroom. She was still watching him.

"Chief Gant honestly didn't know that—"

"He knew!" Miles shouted from the small bathroom. He glared at his own ridiculous face glaring back at him as he put toothpaste on his toothbrush, "They certainly went into all the grisly details during that trial last year."

"I'm sure Chief Gant didn't think it would effect you so severely," Chief Skye said.

Miles grunted and stuck his toothbrush in his mouth and began scrubbing with a vengeance. He kept his eyes on the faucet so he didn't have to look at himself.

"Well, Mister Edgeworth, I didn't come here to beg your forgiveness—I didn't do anything to you."

He didn't answer so she continued.

"Chief Gant asked me to put you on the Honeymoon Case. He said he was very impressed with your work on the investigation yesterday and he wanted you to continue. He said Goodman or Gumshoe could take you around to a few of the crime scenes—"

"Mah mmmpf mo!" Miles said.

"Edgeworth?"

Miles spat and turned on the water to rinse his mouth, "I can't."

"What?" Chief Skye said and Miles was sure she was right next to the bathroom door now. "I mean, if your little 'spell' yesterday is too much—"

Miles frowned and turned his back to the mirror to button a fresh shirt. Somehow in yesterday's fiasco, he'd lost his stays. He shoved the tails of his shirt into his pants and buckled his belt.

"I assure you, Chief Skye, I'm perfectly fine—just don't ask me to ride in that accursed elevator."

The door creaked slightly and he glanced at it—she was leaning against his door.

"I was hoping you'd say that," her voice sounded different buzzing against the door, "So tell me then, why can't you prosecute this case?"

"I thought it was assigned to Payne?" Miles said, "It wouldn't be right to take it from him—he did get Rector convicted."

"And if you hadn't gone into Criminal Affairs yesterday that case would've been closed. Rector might be a craven and cold-blooded killer, but he wasn't the craven cold blooded killer we were looking for."

Miles left the bathroom tugging his vest straight. Chief Skye was standing against his desk framed in the light from the window. Miles swept her with his eyes and went around his desk to put his kit away. She always looked so stiff, so formal—and still, he couldn't deny that she was also very beautiful. Maybe that's why Chief Gant left her to try and convince Miles to take the case.

"I don't mind helping with the investigation," Miles said sitting down behind the polished desk, "But I don't think I should be the one to present it in court."

"Miles," Chief Skye said and her tone made him look up at her, "You can't let that trial last year hold you back. I never took you for a—"

"You say last year like it was so long ago…" Miles frowned at his hands, "but it's only the fourth of January. I spent my last night in the detention center less than a week ago."

"You need to move on or you'll be trapped," her voice had gone cold again, "You can wallow in your own self-pity on your time—but while you're here, as a servant of the public, you need to pull your weight."

"I just…" Miles said almost inaudibly. He just needed more time. That case ripped him open in more ways than he cared to admit. He couldn't stand at that table so soon.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said as she straightened to leave, "Think about it tonight then—sleep on it. I can wait for your answer tomorrow."

Miles frowned. The nightmares had stopped, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep tonight. He watched her walk toward the door. She paused there and turned back to him. He wasn't very sure, but he thought maybe she smiled a little at him.

"Oh and Edgeworth," she said.

"Chief?"

"It's January fifth," she left his office.

Miles just stared at the door.

* * *

_Miles blinked into the bright light of morning. The room was white and clean and cold. A hospital? There was a curtain drawn to block his bed from the rest of the room. They were green—a very ugly shade of green._

_ "Daddy!" Miles screamed and the ordeal flooded back into his mind. Where was his father? "Daddy!"_

_ A woman in white came to his bedside. She was fat and the flesh hung from her arms like pillows. She shushed him gently and hugged him with her fluffy pillow arms while Miles fought to stop crying._

_ He threw it and there was a bang. Then a scream. A terrible scream._

_ They didn't tell him anything, but they tried to make him eat oatmeal but Miles felt shaky and sick to his stomach. Then he was told to swallow a pill and it made him sleep._

_ When he awoke again, he didn't scream for his father—he wanted to, but he didn't. A man came to see him—a doctor. The doctor shined a penlight into his eyes and checked his ears and snapped his fingers around his head. He made Miles wiggle all of his fingers and toes._

_ "I don't think there's been any permanent damage," the Doctor said to the fat nurse._

_ She smiled with relief and gave Miles a squeeze on his shoulder. Miles kept thinking about this 'permanent damage'._

_ "Where's my father?" Miles said after the doctor had gone and the nurse adjusted the curtain._

_ "Don't worry, dear," she said and she left. That only made Miles worry all the more._

_ He didn't close his eyes because all he could see was the struggling shadows in that evil red light. Dad fought with that man in the elevator. Miles hugged the pillow to hide his sobbing. It was lonely there. So lonely._

_ He had a visitor the next day—a detective. The detective wouldn't say anything about his father either. He only asked about that night. All Miles could do was cry, he didn't want to think about it anymore._

_ Another doctor visited him that day. She didn't wear a white coat, but she had a doctor's ID badge pinned to her sweater and she brought him a stuffed animal. She asked him about his feelings, but he didn't want to talk about how he felt. He wanted to know why his dad hadn't come for him yet._

_ "Your daddy isn't going to come," she told him, "He's gone."_

_ Miles didn't sleep at all that night. Every time he closed his eyes his vision was filled with that eerie red light. His dad was fighting with that other man. Miles threw that thing and there was a bang. A smell like smoke—maybe? Something burning? Then he screamed that terrible scream. Or was it Dad that screamed?_

_Miles shivered in that cold room at night, alone—though there were other patients in that room—he was so alone. He hugged his pillow and that stuffed thing but it didn't help._

_Miles didn't know how many days or nights passed that way—it felt like forever. The detective came back to visit him twice more, but Miles had even less to say to him each time._

* * *

"I just don't think I can step foot inside a courtroom ever again," Miles said, "Not as a prosecutor, anyway."

Pess looked at him and cocked her head. Miles turned the baseball in his hand and stared at the water and the yellow light of the afternoon sun glittering upon it. Miles leaned back on the park bench and stared at the baseball in his hands. The stitches were worn and discolored and unraveling in places where the dog had chewed on it.

Miles swallowed and clenched and unclenched his jaw. Pess sat quietly watching him. He continued to turn the ball in his hands with much too much focus. His brow was furrowed and his mouth set in a frown.

"I just don't believe in it anymore," Miles said. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. Pess whimpered and cocked her head in the other direction.

"No, that's not it…" Miles said.

Pess put one of her big paws on his lap and whimpered again. Miles put his hand on her head and scratched her ears.

"But even if I tried to explain it, they wouldn't believe me," Miles said, "It's all so… frustrating…"

"Edgeworth?" Someone shouted his name, and Miles looked up at the caller and groaned. Phoenix Wright was walking toward him. Phoenix grinned.

"Miles Edgeworth?"

'Well how many Edgeworths do you know, Wright?' Miles let his sarcasm go unspoken. Pess had turned her attention to the intruder and it was obvious the big dog frightened the man.

"Pess!" Miles said and he stood and threw the ball. Pess barked once and shot off after it. When Miles turned back, Phoenix was already sharing the bench with him.

"Why don't you have that thing on a leash?" Phoenix said.

"I have a leash right here," Miles sat down and held up the bundled leather. Phoenix made a face at him.

"What are you doing here, Wright?" Miles said glaring at the ground.

"What? It's a public park," Phoenix said, "I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm not allowed to throw baseballs indoors," Miles said blandly.

"Larry and I came to check out the new remote control boat rental place," Phoenix said smiling again, "But Larry met some chick over by the snow cone stand—"

"Snow cones? In January?" Miles said.

"Well, I didn't say it was open, but the stand—whoa!" Phoenix jumped up suddenly and was standing on the bench. Pess had dropped the ball at Miles' feet and was sniffing curiously at Phoenix.

"Come here, girl," Miles said and he scratched her ears and rubbed the fur around her face. She barked and licked Miles' the face.

"Aww puppy!" Miles said, "Does that man scare you?"

"Th-that monster is bigger than me!" Phoenix said.

"He's a defense attorney—don't defense attorneys taste good?" Miles crooned.

Pess barked and Phoenix jumped over the back of the bench and stood behind Miles.

"Edgeworth!" Phoenix's voice cracked a little in desperation.

"Oh she won't hurt you," Miles said, but he clipped her leash back on, "Pess sit. There's a good girl."

Phoenix took his seat beside Miles cautiously, never taking his eyes from the big dog.

"Pess this is Phoenix Wright," Miles said to the dog, Phoenix rolled his eyes, "Wright meet Pess."

The dog held up one of her front paws and waved it in front of Phoenix. Phoenix stared at her apprehensively.

"Don't be rude," Miles said. Phoenix shook her paw. Pess wagged her tail enthusiastically and then put her front paws onto Phoenix's lap and licked his face.

"Well, see that?" Miles said, "She likes you."

Phoenix didn't look so certain. Miles continued to play with his dog rubbing her ears and letting her lick his face and neck. Phoenix cleared his throat.

"So," he said, "I saw on the news that that Rector guy—"

"I know," Miles said, "Pess relax."

Phoenix's eyebrows shot up when the dog lay down at Miles' feet.

"Did you train her yourself?" Phoenix asked.

"Mostly," Miles said.

"Um… So…" Phoenix said, "The other day… You know when we were at the courthouse…"

Miles crossed his arms and glared out at the water. He didn't say anything.

"Well," Phoenix continued, "I'm sorry if I pissed you off…"

"You didn't," Miles said.

"Yeah well you seemed like you were kinda mad and I thought you were mad at me—"

"Wright," Miles looked at Phoenix directly, "I don't waste my time thinking trivial thoughts about trivial people."

"Oh," Phoenix said, and he crossed his arms too, "I see."

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, though Miles could feel Phoenix's gaze fall on him every now and again in that time. Miles didn't mind him really—did he? Phoenix Wright, the lucky lawyer extraordinaire, the idiot savant—and yet Phoenix not only got him acquitted—he solved DL-6 too. Miles glare softened, but he refused to look at Phoenix.

"So I saw this show on TV the other day," Phoenix started. Miles didn't watch TV—not the network stuff. He preferred to choose his own programming.

"Wright why are you just sitting here?" Miles said.

"I could ask you the same thing," Phoenix said. Miles groaned.

"Well, anyway," Phoenix continued, "I lost Larry on another one of his doomed romantic escapades. Maya's gone, so there's no point going back to the office. You're a friend and you're alone—"

"I'm not alone," Miles said.

"Right," Phoenix said, "Does your dog talk with you?"

Miles didn't answer. He always felt better when he talked to Pess.

"I didn't think so," Phoenix said, "So I'm here."

"What makes you think I have anything to say to you?" Miles said.

"Well," Phoenix said, "You did profess your undying love for me on a bottle of champagne."

"I told you I didn't put those cards on the champagne!" Miles said.

Phoenix was smiling, "So defensive…"

Miles stood, "If you insist on being silly, then I'm going home."

Phoenix shrugged, "Well, I'll just have to watch this beautiful sunset all by myself."

"Stop it," Miles said, "Good night, Phoenix Wright."

"You know Miles," Phoenix said still gazing wistfully at the sunset, "If you don't talk about it no one can help you."

Miles paused and looked at him, "You're a nonsensical fool."

"Okay," Phoenix said, "Maybe…"

Miles called Pess to heel and left Phoenix sitting on the bench. He didn't understand it. That trial had brought too much out in the open—that's why he'd initially refused Phoenix's counsel—and yet—Phoenix was the only one who seemed to believe that case had a chance. Miles had to trust him—maybe he still trusted him, and that didn't sit too well with him.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Thanks for reviewing too! **_

_I can't describe how much it means to get feedback—I always say that I write these stories for myself, but it's so easy to lose motivation—so thanks for keeping the fire burning (so to speak)._

_So I think now we've hit a point that people recognize from the game, things begin to get a little dark from here on out….o.0_

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	10. Red Fanta

**Chapter 10**

**Red Fanta**

_"Mom," Phoenix said from the backseat of the car, "Can Miles stay with us, then?"_

_ Mom's reflection moved in the rearview mirror and Phoenix could see she was looking at him even though he could only see the lenses of her sunglasses._

_ "It's not so simple, honey," she said._

_ "So where will he go?" Larry said._

_ "The court decides that," Mom said, "Usually they see if he has other relatives that can take care of him."_

_ "Does Miles have other relatives?" Phoenix asked._

_ "I really don't know," Mom said._

_ "You said he had an Aunt," Phoenix said._

_ "Yeah but…" Mom said, "I don't think he's going to stay with her."_

_ "Is she mean or something?" Larry asked._

_ "She's sick," Mom said._

_ "Still?" Phoenix said._

_ "Nick sometimes people get sick—certain kinds of sick—and they don't get better," Mom said._

_ "Oh," Phoenix said, "Like with cancer."_

_ "Yes," Mom said._

_ "So we need to make a thousand paper cranes," Larry said._

_ "That girl in the story still died," Phoenix said._

_ That killed the conversation until Mom parked at the hospital. It took them a while to navigate the big hospital and they kept losing Larry. So Mom was a little huffy when they got to the place were Miles was. Tomorrow was New Year's Eve, but Miles had nowhere to go._

_ The room where Miles was staying was open and there were four beds—and not all of them were empty. Phoenix frowned at the first patient—he must have had a dozen relatives camping near his bed and they all smelled like weird spices. Otherwise the room was empty except for Miles' bed. There was a curtain pulled around it._

_ The nurse was fat with jiggly arms and he and Larry couldn't help but giggle as she moved the curtain aside so they could visit Miles._

_ Miles looked scary. He was white—well Miles was always sort of pale—but Phoenix thought he looked almost as white as the sheets on his bed. His hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked sick—like the kind of sick people die from. Funny, Mom didn't say Miles was sick._

_ Mom made Larry and him sit off to the side while she went to go talk to him. She hugged Miles and he cried in her arms like a little kid. Phoenix almost yelled at him—he would've if his dad hadn't just died like that. Phoenix just crossed his arms and glared at them—what was Mom's deal anyway? Miles was his friend._

_ Mom was still all sniffly when she came and told Larry and him that they could visit with Miles and not to say anything about his dad. She said she was going to get them something to eat._

_ Miles looked even worse up close. Phoenix was almost afraid to talk to him. So he let Larry speak first._

_ "Hey," Larry said._

_ Miles looked at them and his eyes looked really big in his face and they were kind of pink from all of his crying._

_ "Hello," Miles said, "H-how was your Christmas?"_

_ "Um," Larry said, "it was okay. Yours?"_

_ "Okay," Miles said, "We—um, we went to Nick's house. His mom made prime rib."_

_ "Cool," Larry said, "Did… Um did you get anything cool from Santa?"_

_ Miles looked at him strangely for a moment, "Santa's not real, Larry."_

_ "Oh," Larry said._

_ "Are you sick?" Phoenix said._

_ "No," Miles said, "I'm fine."_

_ "How come you're staying here, then?" Larry said._

_ Miles just looked at the two of them and then turned his face to the wall._

_ "Hey, Miles," Phoenix said, "Are you going to come back when school starts?"_

_ "Um," Miles turned to face them, "I think so. Dad said I could play baseball instead of golf this year."_

_ "That's cool," Larry said._

_ "We could go to that lighthouse," Phoenix said, "Now that all of us are together."_

_ "Yeah," Miles said._

_ It was really weird. Phoenix didn't know what to say to him and from Larry's expression, it was clear that he didn't know either. Miles was staring at both of them and biting his lip._

_ "Um guys," Miles said and both Larry and Phoenix looked very focused at him, "My dad was murdered. I keep asking—but no one will tell me what happened."_

_ Phoenix looked at Larry and Larry made a face at him. Mom said they weren't supposed to talk about this. Miles was staring real hard at them and Phoenix frowned._

_ "If you find out what happens will you tell me?" Miles asked them._

_ "Sure," Larry said and Phoenix nodded._

_ Miles turned to stare at the wall again, "I'm supposed to leave here tomorrow. But I don't know where they're sending me. So I guess I won't see you guys until school starts again."_

_ "I'll ask my Mom," Phoenix said, "She'll know where to find you. She works for the school people. We'll come get you when you move in to your new… um… house."_

_ "I hope so," Miles said._

_ "Are you just going to live by yourself?" Larry said._

_ "Maybe," Miles said, "I know how to use a microwave."_

_ "That's cool," Larry said. Phoenix stared at Miles, unable to think up any more pleasantry. Miles stared at the wall and Larry started poking at the balloons someone had sent to Miles. Several moments dragged in the heavy silence. Then Phoenix moved toward the bed and shoved his face toward Miles, glaring as hard as he could._

_ "Miles what's wrong with you? Mom didn't say you were sick. But you look sick."_

_ "I'm okay," Miles said, "The food here isn't good."_

_ "Mom's going to get food," Phoenix said._

_ "Yeah," Miles said, "I told her I wanted tacos."_

_ "Sweet," Larry said._

_ It got quiet again and they all looked about the room in disparate directions trying to seem occupied._

_ "Phoenix," Miles said, and he balked—long enough for Phoenix to answer._

_ "What?"_

_ "Is this how you felt when your dad's plane crashed?"_

_ Phoenix stared at Miles, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry._

* * *

Phoenix fumbled in the mirror with his tie. Normally he kept it tied but it needed pressing so he had to start from scratch. As he undid the knot and redid it he started to really feel Maya's absence.

She couldn't tie a tie but at least she would have reminded him that the knot he looked at in the mirror was opposite of the actual knot in front of him.

Somehow he'd managed to piece together his suit in its entirety—clean too. Phoenix took a moment to gloat a little as he filled the reservoir in the coffee machine and threw out the grounds from yesterday and replaced them with fresh ones. He put on his jacket and set his coat and briefcase near the door and waited for the coffee to finish. Then he filled his dented brushed steel travel mug, proudly displaying a scratched up hologram sticker of the Evil Magistrate—courtesy of Maya—and left his apartment.

Phoenix walked out to the mailbox to get the newspaper and found six of them. He put the current day's paper under his arm and dropped the rest in the recycle bin. By the time he reached the building he was whistling. Today, Wright&Co. Law Offices was open for business.

Phoenix looked around the little office and frowned. Nothing had changed—Charley looked a little sad—but everything else was the same. Phoenix sighed as he tossed the newspaper on the counter and went to water Charley. Nothing had changed, but it didn't seem right without Maya.

Phoenix turned on the computer and stared at the screen as it booted. He opened his e-mail first. He hadn't looked at his inbox since the twenty-eighth—the day the Hammond trial ended. Of course, Maya would have cleaned out his inbox while she was in—so he wasn't expecting any business mail. Phoenix frowned as he scrolled down the list packing.

"Steel Samurai Alerts… Pink Princess Updates… Someone responded to your post on Neo Olde Tokyo Online…" He might've been annoyed if he didn't miss her so much.

Phoenix only had three e-mails not related to Maya's interests. One was from that Mexican Race horse owner. One was from the owner of the business park, wishing him a Happy New Year. The last one was from Edgeworth's work e-mail, no subject. Phoenix sipped his coffee and stared at the e-mail.

_January 2, 2016 at 1043 A.M._

_From: ____medgew(a) .gov_

_To: (You) pwright(a) ; rgumsh(a) .gov; jmars2(a) .gov; dabutz_99(a) ; lskye(a) .gov _

_Subject: (none)_

_Good Morning,_

_It was brought to my attention that the champagne bottles had love notes attached to them. I am embarrassed to admit, that a few 'forward' neighbors that live in my building gave me the champagne and I simply 're-gifted' it. Please disregard the note cards—unless you would like an introduction with one of these neighbors. Sorry for any confusion._

_Cheers!_

_Edgeworth_

Cheers? Edgeworth was so weird. Phoenix grinned as he read the names of the other people copied on the e-mail. So Edgeworth had tried to warn them. Phoenix paused thoughtfully and then hit reply.

_January 6, 2016 at 953 A.M._

_From: (__You) pwright(a) _

_To: ______medgew(a) .gov_

_Subject: RE:(none)_

_My heart is breaking…_

Phoenix hit send. He waited for a minute, but there was no reply. He opened the desktop solitaire game—probably the most sophisticated application on the sad little computer—and hit deal. Phoenix was about to lose his fifth game of solitaire when he saw the reply come in.

_January 6, 2016 at 1107 A.M._

_From: ____medgew(a) .gov_

_To: __(__You) pwright(a) _

_Subject: RE: RE:(none)_

_Idiot._

Phoenix smiled and hit reply.

_January 6, 2016 at 1108 A.M._

_From: __(__You) pwright(a) _

_To: ____medgew(a) .gov_

_Subject: RE: RE: RE:(none)_

_I hope you learned your lesson about re-gifting—and stirring up the passions of little old ladies._

Then he hit send. Edgeworth made him wait of course. Edgeworth probably had work in front of him anyway.

_January 6, 2016 at 1223 P.M._

_From: ____medgew(a) .gov_

_To: __(__You) pwright(a) _

_Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE:(none)_

_Don't you have a job?_

Phoenix laughed and hit reply.

_January 6, 2016 at 1225 P.M._

_From: (__You) pwright(a) _

_To: __medgew(a) .gov_

_Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE:(none)_

_Yes. I'm monitoring my e-mail. In case there's a client._

Phoenix laughed and hit send. Phoenix went back to his solitaire game, pausing often to check for a reply. After an hour he stood and took off his jacket and his tie and hung them on the computer chair. The sofa was the same—stained where Maya dripped chilidog chili that day—Phoenix frowned and dropped himself heavily on the sofa and turned on the television. The news channel was on—talking about the Rector trial again and his heinous crimes. Phoenix changed the channel. A man was standing over a woman in a hospital bed telling her that he never meant to hurt her and—Phoenix changed the channel. Highlights from a football game. The Great Gurgitation. The Money Show. The Steel Samurai…

Phoenix stopped flipping the channels when he got to the news channel he'd started with. He frowned at the pretty young journalist whose hair was bobbing around against the gray winter day. He startled when his chin hit his chest as he nodded off. He turned and pulled his feet up onto the couch still staring at the TV. Something was strange…

Phoenix turned up the volume—for some reason it was very muted. He sat up when he recognized the steps to this district's courthouse.

"…the Police have declined to comment on this case at all, though it is widely speculated that they will move forward to expedite this trial. I'm Laura Costa, live from the district courthouse. Where the district—"

Phoenix tuned out the television again and stood to get something to drink from the mini-fridge Mia had bought to keep drinks for their clients and Maya kept stocked with soda and chips "for the office" she'd told him—from what he'd seen "the office" meant mostly her. The fridge was mostly empty now, though Phoenix was relieved to find one unclaimed red Fanta. He was still fumbling with the tab as he sat down. Then he glanced at the TV and dropped it on the floor.

Edgeworth was glaring at him from the TV screen.

"…Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. Prosecutor Edgeworth, can you tell us if the arrest made earlier this afternoon—"

"No comment," Edgeworth said and started to move away but the camera panned to follow him.

"Have they caught the Honeymoon Killer?"

Edgeworth glared back at the camera once before turning and shoved himself into the crowd going the other direction. The camera was focused on the reporter again.

Phoenix laughed and picked up the still unopened soda can. He forgot he'd dropped it and jumped up from the sofa when it started to spray pink foam and an unnatural red liquid everywhere.

* * *

_Miles wasn't there on the first day back from winter break. No one in class mentioned his absence—except Larry—and he only brought it up to Phoenix. By the afternoon, class started to feel the same as it ever had, like winter break had never even happened. Like Miles had never gone to that school at all._

_ Larry talked animatedly about something Phoenix had already tuned out while the two of them made their way home from school. This was how it used to be, right? Nick and the Butz, best buddies, loyal pals, right? Phoenix frowned a little, there was something missing._

_ "Huh Nick?" Larry said and tugged on Phoenix's backpack. Phoenix stopped at looked at Larry, startled at the interruption of his musings._

_ "What?"_

_ "Tomorrow," Larry coaxed. Phoenix frowned and started walking again._

_ "I'm sorry Larry," he said, "What was that?"_

_ "I said we should catch it and put it in Misses Gagner's desk before class tomorrow."_

_ Phoenix stopped turned and blinked at Larry. He certainly shouldn't have been this surprised. Larry was always thinking up bad ideas._

_ "Um," Phoenix said, "What are we going to catch again?"_

_ "Nick!" Larry slapped his own forehead, "Are you even listening to me?"_

_ Phoenix sighed, "Larry, I don't think we should put anything in Misses Gagner's desk. I told my mom I wouldn't get any more detentions. She said if I was good for a whole month, she'd take me to Ocean World."_

_ "Ocean World?" Larry said, "That place seems stupid. Come to this fake aquarium and see a stupid whale show that only lasts ten seconds…"_

_ "Yeah but I've never been there," Phoenix said._

_ "So are you going to just stop being fun?" Larry said, "You want to be like Miles?"_

_ "No," Phoenix said._

_ "Are you going to come over later?" Larry said._

_ "I don't know," Phoenix said, "I have homework."_

_ "No you don't," Larry said, "It's the first day back."_

_ "Yeah but, the teacher said it's going to be harder now that Christmas is over and we have those tests we have to take—"_

_ "Stop," Larry said, "I'm just going to go home."_

_ "Bye Larry," Phoenix said._

_ "Bye," Larry said, and he kicked at a few stones as he continued along the street by himself._

_ Phoenix went into his house. Mom came home about a half-hour after him. She was carrying the mail and her workbag. She found him sitting on the sofa with his school bag on the seat next to him, one elbow propped up on it._

_ "Nick?"_

_ "Oh, hi mom," he said._

_ "How was school?"_

_ "It was okay."_

_ "Just okay?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ Mom went to sort the mail in her hand and Phoenix watched her anxiously. She didn't have anything for him. She didn't say anything when she came and sat beside him on the couch. He barely acknowledged it when she pulled his schoolbag away to set it on the floor. Then she slid over and hugged him._

_ "What's wrong?"_

_ "I'm fine mom," Phoenix said._

_ "Don't try to lie," Mom said, "Just tell me what's bothering you. Then we'll find a solution to making it all better."_

_ Phoenix hesitated. Then he said, "Mom, how come Miles isn't back at school with us?"_

_ Mom seemed surprised at his question and then she smiled, "You miss him?"_

_ "Not really," Phoenix said, "But he said he was coming back."_

* * *

Phoenix was still peeling off his red Fanta soaked shirt when his phone rang. He groaned and dropped the shirt in the sink and went to answer it.

"Hello," he said.

"Any luck with that?" Phoenix was surprised to hear Edgeworth's voice.

"What are you—?"

"It's me. Edgeworth."

"I figured as mu—"

"You said you were trying to get a client."

"I'm not going to represent you in court again," Phoenix said.

"Never?" Edgeworth said.

"No," Phoenix said, "What do you need, Edgeworth?"

"Is it a bad time? You sound busy. I'll just leave you a—"

"I'm not—really—busy," Phoenix said, "Why?"

"I need a favor," Edgeworth said and Phoenix found that he was suddenly quite intrigued.

"I'll help if I can," Phoenix said, "What do you need?"

"I don't really need anything, just your time," Edgeworth said, "Can you throw a baseball?"

"Uh," Phoenix said, "You mean for real throw one? Because I can throw just about anything I can pick up."

"I'm sure," Edgeworth said, "I need you to pitch to me, since the batting cages will be closed by the time I get out of here. You really don't mind?"

"Pitch?" Phoenix said, "I don't—"

"Normally I would ask Dick, but he's busy and my boss said I have to get in some batting practice."

Phoenix tried to play the last sentence in head again—what the heck?

"Um," Phoenix said, "Who is this again?"

"It's me," It certainly sounded like Edgeworth's voice, "I um, I'll pay you for your tro—"

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "You just said you'd pay me to throw stuff at you."

"Not stuff, baseballs."

"Can we meet at People Park?"

"Where's that?"

"Miles I saw you there yesterday! You had your dog—"

"Oh," Edgeworth paused, "Can you give me an address? I don't remember how I got there."

That's strange, Phoenix thought, "How do you not remember? Are you telling me you walked all the way over there from your building?"

"Just give me the address—or the cross-streets," Edgeworth said.

"Just meet me in front of my office building—what time do you want to do this?"

"Well, it's just after four—I have to go home and change, how about five or five thirty?"

"That's fine," Phoenix said. Interesting, he didn't think Edgeworth was into sports.

"Thank you," Edgeworth said and he hung up. Phoenix set his phone on the counter and turned on the sink to try and rinse the soda out of his shirt.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Phoenix POV (I just finished playing Justice for All (again ;p) so I was distracted for a bit. That was actually the first PW game I ever played and I was confused about that guy that chose death and made Phoenix all angry—I remember thinking it was weird.)_

_So yeah… Miles plays baseball in this story—I promise it makes sense, bear with me. Also... what an interesting experience trying to depict fake e-mail addresses on this site-o.0_

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	11. No Such Thing as Ghosts

**Chapter 11**

**No Such Thing as Ghosts**

_Miles sat in the detective's car with his head down and his arms crossed over his chest. They drove for a long time and the detective tried to make him feel better by telling stories about being a cop. Miles wasn't really listening and he didn't say anything. After they left the city, the detective gave up too._

_ They drove past houses and shopping blocks, the suburban sprawl clutching to the edges of the city. It went on for a long while and then the highway narrowed and flattened and all there was to look at were farms and trees._

_ "Where are we going?" Miles said finally._

_ "Well," the Detective said, turning to glance at him, "We are trying to find out some information—so we can put your father's killer in prison. But there aren't any more leads."_

_ "My dad never came out here," Miles said._

_ "No," the detective said, "The person who can help us lives out here—in an isolated town in the mountains."_

_ "Oh," Miles said. Then he fell silent and morose again._

_ The detective paused and then said, "We'll get him, kid. We're doing everything we can to put that criminal away. Don't worry."_

_ Miles watched the farms speed past and the forest crowd in as they climbed into the hills._

_ They stopped at a bus station that seemed to stand alone in the wilderness. The detective offered Miles his hand to lead him, but Miles only glared and shook his head. As they walked and the village came into view, Miles had the feeling that he'd been transported into the past. The village's stonewalls and thatched roofs were tidy and flourishing, even though there were no sidewalks or cars or anything he'd expect to see in a modern town. As they mounted the stairs to the largest house, Miles spotted a bicycle. It leaned against the stonewall in jarring juxtaposition to the rest of the village._

_ A woman stepped outside to meet them at the door; she was dressed funny—long baggy flowing robes and baubles and beads. She looked normal, Miles thought, if she went and put on normal clothes she'd be right at home in the city._

_ "Welcome to Kurain, Detective Gant," She had a pleasant voice and a comforting smile, "You must be Miles."_

_ Miles nodded wide-eyed and nervous. They followed her inside and she talked about some ceremony that would be taking place. Two girls came running inside from a bright door that opened on an outdoor courtyard. One girl was taller than him and the other still toddling._

_ "Mamma," the taller girl said, "Can we—"_

_ "Please, girls, they're here," the woman said, "I need you to stay out of the way. Take Maya and play in the garden."_

_ "But—"_

_ "Please, Mia," she said, "This shouldn't take took long, we'll discuss it then."_

_ Miles stared after them in their strange village clothes. The detective put a big hand on Miles shoulder. The woman crouched a little to look Miles in the eye._

_ "This can be very difficult. You're very brave, Miles," she said._

_ "What's happening?" Miles said._

_ "Well, Kid," the detective said, "This is Misty Fey, she's a spirit medium. She's going to call your dad."_

_ Miles' eyes opened so wide they nearly bugged from his head, "What?"_

_ "We tried yesterday," Misty Fey said, "But he said he wanted to see you."_

_ Miles looked at each of the adults in turn, "I don't understand. My dad?"_

_ The detective chuckled and Misty led them into the channeling chamber._

* * *

"I'm serious," Miles said as they walked toward the park, "I've been ordered to get some batting practice in—do you think I want to be out here?"

"Well, if it were me," Phoenix said, "I'd pick batting practice over real work in a heartbeat. But somehow, I think you feel like recreation is punishment."

"This isn't recreation," Miles said, "It's a waste of time. I don't need batting practice."

Phoenix just made a face at him. Miles shoved his empty hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt and frowned.

"I just have one question," Phoenix said—he never seemed to like letting silence linger, "Who the hell plays ball in January?"

"The police department, apparently," Miles said.

"Why is this game such a big deal?"

"It isn't really," Miles shrugged, "Except to the Chief of Police. Since he's all about it, Chief Skye is all about it. It's been like this for the last two years. The Prosecutors never win—and somehow this year, it became my problem."

Phoenix laughed, "This is your first time playing in the tournament?"

"Yes," Miles said, "Usually, I manage to be in court during this game. They assume that because I'm twenty-four and male, I must be good at baseball."

"Do you even know how to play?" Phoenix was at least kind enough to look surprised.

"It's not a very difficult game," Miles said.

When they found an open area in the park, Miles dropped his bag and knelt to pull out a canvas bag of balls, which he promptly passed to a very uncertain looking Phoenix.

"I wasn't sure if you were left or right handed," Miles said.

"Right," Phoenix said and Miles handed him a glove, "This one is left hand—"

"You wear it on the left if you're throwing with the right," Miles said, "That's my glove—don't ruin it."

Phoenix grinned, "Wow, your hands are pretty big."

Miles pointed at him and glared, "Keep in mind, Wright, I will be swinging a baseball bat—so don't be creepy."

"I only do it because it's funny," Phoenix said defensively, "Don't go thinking that I'm—"

Miles held up a hand to shut him up, "Stop."

Miles pulled off his sweatshirt, revealing a long-sleeved baseball shirt, and grabbed his bat; he swung and stretched his arms as he walked a ways away from Phoenix. When he turned and looked up Phoenix was staring back at him with a very deer-in-the-headlights daze.

Miles adjusted his stance and gave a practice swing, and then he stood straight, "Ready?"

"Um," Phoenix said, "For something you think is silly, you sure seem very serious about this."

Miles gave a tight-lipped smile, "If they're going to make me play, I better win."

Phoenix stuck his hand in the bag and frowned at the ball he pulled out.

"Come on," Miles said.

"This is a baseball…" Phoenix said.

"Just throw already!"

"Yeah but," Phoenix said still staring at the ball, "I figured since you guys were just playing for fun—"

"We've devoted our lives to justice," Miles said wagging a finger toward Phoenix, "We are dedicated to finding the dark criminal element marring the face of this city and scrubbing it clean. We don't play softball…"

"Um…" Phoenix said and stared.

Miles kicked at the grass and took his stance again, "Some time today, Wright."

Phoenix wound up and threw. Miles was frowning at the ball when it landed short and rolled toward his feet. Phoenix was looking like his client had just confessed on the stand. Miles picked up the ball and walked back toward him.

"You need to warm up," Miles said and dropped the ball into the mitt Phoenix was still wearing.

"I thought you were going to tell me that I throw like a girl," Phoenix said putting his mitted hand behind his head abashedly.

"No," Miles said as he dug around in the bag for another glove, "Most girls throw better than that."

Phoenix frowned.

"Come on," Miles said, "I'll teach you how to throw."

"I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea—I never really—," Phoenix stumbled over the words.

Miles looked at him steadily, "It's been what—fifteen years?"

"Huh?" Phoenix said.

"Since we got to play outside together…" Miles said.

"Longer than that now," Phoenix said, "I don't remember you being very into sports… Well, golf, I guess… But—"

Miles put on his glove and started to walk away, like he was pacing for a duel.

"My dad taught me how to throw," he said as he walked with his back to Phoenix, "He didn't have time very often, but we'd play catch when he did."

Miles stopped and turned to face his friend, "I guess you didn't have that—with your dad being a fighter pilot and everything."

Phoenix's eyes went wide in surprise and then he laughed, "My dad wasn't a fighter pilot, Miles."

"Yeah but your mom told me—"

"And she told Larry he was a musician. A rock star. Mom never really liked to talk about him… Hey, Miles," Phoenix said, "If you just wanted to hang out, why didn't you just say so? Why'd you make up a story about—"

"I didn't make up anything," Miles said, "My boss really did tell me to get some batting practice in. But the cages are closed and I didn't know anyone else who's free to do this."

"Sorry I can't throw," Phoenix said.

"It's fine," Miles was rolling the glove with his free hand and staring hard at it, "Throwing practice is good too."

"Well, it's good to be outside," Phoenix said, "I spend too much time alone in the apartment."

"Think of this as a little payback for your counsel last month," Miles said.

"You don't owe me anything, Miles," Phoenix said.

Miles just looked at him. They stared at each other mutely for several moments. Then Phoenix cleared his throat—no doubt so he could say something stupid and incongruous. So Miles spoke first.

"Just throw the damn ball, Wright."

* * *

_Miles shivered and slid away from her right into Detective Gant. The detective took him by the shoulder and told him not to be afraid. But Miles was afraid—the closed room, dark, but for the candles lining the walls; the smell of incense and burning candle wax; the feel of the woven mat underneath them; the way it sounded when they moved—it was so very surreal. Misty Fey was sitting there with her head down, muttering under her breath and swaying slightly. Miles turned away and faced the wall, watching the candles flicker._

_ "Ah, you're back Gant," the voice was female; it was Misty Fey. But the inflection was male. It was different enough from her regular voice to be frightening._

_ "What do you want now?"_

_ "I want you to try and remember that night again," the detective said, "Think hard. Who shot you?"_

_ "I told you, I don't know—it was dark. The bailiff and I were suffering from hypoxia, it was hard to tell what was happening."_

_ That was that Misty Fey lady, Miles told himself. But the more she talked the more he recognized the familiar nuance of that voice. Miles drew his knees up toward his chin and hugged them tight—this was too strange._

_ "How is my boy?"_

_ "We took him out of the hospital, like you asked," the detective said, "He's in a state home for now."_

_ "My sister—"_

_ "She's not going to make it," Gant said, "I'm sorry."_

_ Miles couldn't believe this—yet out of nowhere he let out a sob. This wasn't really happening._

_ "Miles?"_

_ Miles refused to look, "D-daddy?"_

_ He wasn't going to look. Dad was dead. Dead people don't come back._

_ Miles nearly jumped when Misty Fey put her arms around him from behind. He wouldn't look._

_ "Miles," It really did sound like Dad. Miles stared at the arms that held him. He recognized the sleeves of the Fey Lady's robes, but those arms were big and the hands big, like his father's._

_ "Daddy?" Miles said again._

_ "My boy," His father held him close, like when he was smaller. When he'd had a nightmare or a bad day._

_ Miles turned and put his arms around his father's neck, but he refused to open his eyes._

_ "Daddy, I'm sorry," Miles said. He didn't notice the detective's shift in posture._

_ "Shhh. Don't worry about me, Miles," Dad said, "I'm in a good place. It's safe here. But you're alone in the world now. I'm sorry for that."_

_ Dad paused and pushed Miles away so he could look at him. Miles looked into that face—it was Dad, but his hair was long and he was wearing those weird clothes that Misty Fey had. But those were Dad's eyes. Miles wiped his face._

_ "Daddy, I think I—"_

_ Dad shook him a little, "No Miles, you didn't. Don't worry about it. You have to be strong. I've done what I could for you—but you're still so young. Be brave Miles, I'll do what I can to watch over you."_

_ Dad put a hand on Miles' head and brushed his hair back with his fingers._

_ Miles stared at him, "Can you see Mom?"_

_ "I'll find her soon Miles, don't worry about me."_

_ "Don't forget about me," Dad said and he smiled._

_ Miles could only cry mutely in his father's arms._

_ "Mister Edgeworth," the detective said, "I don't want to seem insensitive but we don't have a lot of time. Who shot you? Who pulled the trigger?"_

_ Miles sobbed and his father stared at him with his brows set in that worried look that he sometimes got when things were tough in court. Dad sighed and looked over at the detective._

_ "It was Yanni Yogi."_

* * *

Miles looked at the folder opened next to his keyboard and entered another line into the document he was typing. He finished his report and did one final sweep for mistakes and then hit print. He was still standing at the printer when a knock sounded at his door.

Miles set the pages on his desk and went to answer the door.

"Chief Skye," he said in greeting and closed the door behind her only to have it pushed back.

"Chief Gant," he greeted the other visitor.

"Little Worthy," Gant said, "I'm sorry about the other day."

"Well," Miles said and he closed the door and went to collect the pages he'd just printed. Gant and Skye both sat on the sofa. Gant was grinning—but then he usually was—and Skye was impassive—also not unusual.

"I saw you on TV, Worthy," Gant said, "You were looking a little pale."

"It's January," Miles said by way of explanation. Gant let out his booming laugh and clapped.

"Don't worry, Little Worthy," Gant was still laughing, "You were still very handsome. Your hair was perfect."

Miles glared at him and then Skye, "What's going on?"

"We're just checking on you," Chief Skye said, "When Damon left you were lying on a gurney with your face covered in blood. He wanted to apologize."

"That's not necessary," Miles said suddenly feeling embarrassed again.

"But it is," Gant said, "I had no idea you had it that bad. I feel so guilty I took the stairs today. I had to sit in Lana's office for twenty minutes before I'd recovered enough to come over here."

Miles frowned, "Okay. I accept your apology."

"You were always such a sweet kid, Miles," Gant said and Miles' frown deepened.

"Have you made anymore progress?" Chief Skye asked.

"I just finished," Miles said and handed her the file folder now populated with his report.

"Sweet and punctual," Gant said.

"Chief Gant," Miles said, "Is there something you needed from me?"

"No, my boy. I only came to apologize and see if Lana had managed to get you back in court—of course, I saw on the news that an indictment had been filed, and my favorite High Prosecutor was at the courthouse. Caught on tape, weren't you?"

Chief Gant started laughing again and Miles turned toward the window and made a face. Chief Skye was still pouring over Miles' work. Miles crossed his arms and waited for Gant to stop laughing.

Chief Skye smiled, "I don't have any problems with this. But then I never expect anything less than perfect from you."

"Great!" Gant said, "So we'll see you in court tomorrow!"

Miles turned to look at them, "You're going to sit in on the trial?"

"The Legendary Duo lives on!" Gant said and stood to walk out of Miles' office.

"This is a huge case," Chief Skye said, "You should take the rest of they day and relax."

"Wait," Miles said as Chief Skye stood to follow Gant.

"Or maybe you can put in some time at the batting cages."

Miles stood and glared at the door even after she'd closed it behind her. He had his case file in one hand and the other in his pocket. Miles had been looking forward to lunch, but the thought of Skye and Gant in attendance at tomorrow's trial brought on his nerves, and his appetite fled.

He was still standing there several minutes later when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered it without checking the caller id.

"Edgeworth," he said not a little coldly.

"Hello, little brother," Franziska said.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Miles visits Kurain village as a kid—I always wondered how the channeling of Gregory Edgeworth would have gone._

_I figured Mia to be about 12 and Maya 3. Oh, and we're finally going to get a solid dose of Franziska—woot!_

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	12. Little Brother

**Chapter 12**

**Little Brother**

_The other boy that shared his room was sent to a foster home almost immediately after Miles' arrival. So they told him that he was lucky—that he'd have the room to himself for a while._

_The detective and one of the doctors from the hospital—the woman doctor that gave him the toy—had taken him to Dad's house first. They told him to take whatever he needed—clothes, shoes, books—Miles didn't want anything from the house. The doctor lady held his hand as they walked into the house they'd only lived in for a few short months._

_ He still remembered living here. It wasn't that long ago—a few days maybe? But somehow it seemed foreign. The leather sofa looked cold where it sat, a newspaper had been folded sloppily and left on the seat. Dad's reading glasses were still on the table, as if he'd just set them there._

_ "Where is your room, Miles?" the Doctor said._

_ "Upstairs," Miles said. He started walking toward the stairs and she tried to take his hand again, but Miles pulled away, he'd had just about enough of her._

_ They had family pictures, but Dad never had a chance to put them up. The walls were pretty bare. Dad did hang the cuckoo clock up though, on the wall where the stairs paused for a short landing before changing direction. Miles never really liked that clock, but Mom had picked it out and Dad cherished it for her sake._

_ Miles continued up the stairs with the Doctor hovering close behind him._

_ "How are you feeling now, Miles?" She said as they arrived at the top of the stairs. She was asking that all the time._

_ "Fine," Miles said automatically. He looked around the small loft at the top of the stairs. There was a tent set up there, from when Larry and Phoenix had stayed over. Dad showed them how to set it up—he thought they'd like to camp out, even if it was only out on the loft. Beyond the collapsed tent the door to Dad's room was ajar. Miles didn't realize he was staring at it until the Doctor gave him a light push on the back to stop his musing._

_ Miles led her into his room. It was tidy and bare. There was a small desk in one corner with a few books still stacked where he'd left them. A short bookcase under the window held a handsome leather bound set of encyclopedias—a set his father had as a kid. On the wall near his desk were several pictures drawn on ruled paper with a ragged edge from being torn from a notebook. The drawings Larry made for him._

_ "Um…" Miles said._

_ "What is it Miles?" the Doctor said and before she could ask him about his feelings he asked her a question._

_ "Will I go back to the same school?"_

_ "We'll have to wait and see," she said._

_ "But school is starting soon," Miles said._

_ "Do you like school, Miles? Do you have a lot of friends there?"_

_ Miles only frowned—what did that have to do with anything?_

_ "Come on," the Doctor said, "Let's get some of your clothes to take with you to the home."_

_ "Can't I just stay here?" Miles said._

_ "You're just a little boy," the Doctor said, "You can't live in this big house by yourself."_

_ Miles wanted to ask her why, but he was reluctant to hear whatever weird question she would ask in reply. So he said nothing._

_ When he had packed enough of his clothes to satisfy the doctor, they went back downstairs and met the detective, who was frowning near the door. He was a big man with a touch of gray in his light brown hair. He, at least, proved better company than the doctor._

_ The door had a padlock on it and Miles watched curiously as the detective locked the house. They were already walking back to the car when Miles remembered something._

_ "Wait!"_

_ "Is something wrong Miles?" the Doctor said._

_ "There's something else I need to get," Miles said._

_ The detective looked a little flustered, Miles stared at him wide-eyed._

_ "Is it something that you need or something that you want?" the Doctor said._

_ "It's important," Miles insisted, "It's in the garage. You don't have to unlock the house to open the garage, do you?"_

_ The Doctor was frowning. But the Detective patted Miles' shoulder and walked toward the garage. He looked at the large door for a moment and then the keys in his hand._

_ "I'm pretty sure they gave me the keys for all the doors to the house," he said._

_ "Dad used to open it with buttons," Miles said._

_ "Oh, yeah," the Detective said, "But most garage doors have a bypass that can be unlocked with a key. I just hope I have the right key."_

_ Miles watched as the detective tested the handle of the door. He always wondered why such a big door had such a stupid little handle, when the buttons opened the door automatically. The Detective tried four keys before he got one that fit. He turned the handle and gave the door a hard enough pull that it went most of the way up._

_ Miles ran inside and made straight for the large gray plastic trashcan in one corner of the tidy garage. Inside was a bouncy ball, a rake, his putters and various other outdoor sports equipment. Dad had encouraged him through several phases of changing sports interest. Miles could only look into the bin as it was up to his chin in height._

_ "What are you looking for?" the Detective said peering in over Miles' head._

_ "I want to bring my best putter," Miles said._

_ "I can't let you bring a putter," the Detective said but he reached inside, "How about this?"_

_ He held up Miles' baseball mitt. Miles frowned at it._

_ "It's too small," Miles said, "That was from when I was a little kid. Dad got me a new one for Christmas."_

_ "Where's that one now?"_

_ "I think I left it upstairs," Miles frowned, but the detective reached into the bin again and pulled out an adult glove. His father's glove._

_ "How about this one?" The Detective said._

_ "It's too big," Miles said._

_ "You'll grow into it." Miles took the glove from the big detective and hugged it to his chest. He nodded._

_ "It's Dad's glove," Miles said._

* * *

**January 8, 10:00 A.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 2**

Miles stifled a yawn and finished his coffee. He'd been preparing the witness for the better part of the last three hours. This was going to be a difficult witness. He stood outside the witness' waiting lounge and checked his watch.

He threw the paper cup in the trash and walked toward the courtroom. Miles straightened his cravat and ran a hand through his hair. It fell perfectly into place.

The bailiff poked his head out and motioned for him to enter. Miles didn't look around at the audience but went straight and focused toward the prosecution table. Once there he set out his files on the case, the evidence lists, the evidence he'd present himself. Miles only looked up when the defense walked in.

She was a severe looking woman wearing a gray pantsuit. Her dark but graying hair was cropped pixie-like and short. She glared back at him as she prepared her own materials. Miles almost smiled—almost.

Chief Gant and Chief Skye walked in together and joined the audience behind the defense table; no doubt they chose that side of the courthouse so they could see him better. Gant grinned and waved at him. Miles nodded slightly at him and turned his gaze toward the bench where the Judge sat at the head of the courtroom.

When he entered in a flurry of black robes, the bailiff introduced him to the court and the proceedings formally began. Miles relaxed considerably.

**"Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Kurt Sheinheilig," the Judge said.**

"**The Defense is ready, Your Honor," Pixie-Haircut said.**

"**The Prosecution has been ready for a while," Edgeworth said.**

"**Edgeworth!" the Judge said.**

"**Good Morning your honor," Edgeworth replied.**

"**Tell us what's going on here," the Judge said.**

"**Very good, Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "For the past three years, this City and the surrounding region have been terrorized by a murderer. A cold-blooded and indiscriminate murderer. The Prosecution believes Mr. Sheinheilig is this—"**

"**OBJECTION!" Pixie-haircut said, "Prove it!"**

"**That's what we're here to do," Edgeworth replied coolly.**

**The judge hammered his gavel in one sharp crack, "Will the defense relax? Edgeworth, continue."**

"**Thank you, Your Honor," Edgeworth said with a sidelong glance at Pixie-Haircut, "Let's move on then; the Prosecution would like to call its first witness—Mr. Shady K. Rector."**

Shady K. Rector took the stand. He was a small greasy little man with several nervous twitches. He was wearing a bold striped prison uniform and he remained cuffed on the stand. He turned his head nervously searching the courtroom audience.

"**Witness, Please state your name for the record," Edgeworth said.**

"**Um… I-I'm… muh muh my nuh name is Shh… Shady Rector," Rector said.**

"**Weren't you just here?" the Judge said.**

"**Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "Mister Rector was recently convicted in an unrelated case."**

"**Oh," the Judge said, "Go ahead then."**

"**Mister Rector could you testify to the court about the nature of your web service 'Reformed and Reborn dot com'?"**

"**Um… Y-yes," Rector began, "Reformed and Reborn is a de de dating site that that kuh-caters tuh-to kuh-convicts tha-that have been released from prison. Life is very hard for people th-that ha-have been in-incarcerated. Th-this site offers them th-the chuh-chance to be-begin anew, by helping th-them find love. Luh-love kuh-can change lives for th-the better. All-although the suh-site is for ree-reformed convicts, nuh-no details about our kli-clientsss criminal past is ree-revealed."**

"**Oh," the Judge said, "That's very optimistic, isn't it?"**

"**We-we're a veh-very glass half-half f-f-f-f-f-full kind of company, sir," Rector said.**

"**Shield? Do you wish to crass examine the witness?" the Judge said.**

"**Of course!" the Defense Attorney said. Edgeworth eyed her unperturbed; so her name was Shield.**

"**Mr. Rector, you said your web service caters to reformed convicts, correct?"**

"**Y-yes ma'am," Rector said.**

"**You also stated that no details about their criminal past is revealed," Shield slapped the table top, "How do you know that all of your clients are convicts then?"**

"**Objection! Irrelevant!" Edgeworth said.**

"**Yeah, how is that relevant to this case?" the Judge said.**

"**I believe it is," Shield said.**

"**How?" Edgeworth said.**

"**Yes, how?" said the Judge.**

"**If the convictions are kept secret, then how can the site be sure that all of its clients are convicts?" Shield shook her pixie haircut. Edgeworth eyed her with unconcealed ennui.**

"**I think the defense is confused," Edgeworth said, "We are seeking to establish a link between the defendant and the victims in this case. Whether this web service actually catered only to convicts or not is irrelevant."**

**The judge slammed his gavel, "Sustained. Witness testify to the court about how you know the defendant."**

**Shield glared at Edgeworth and he met her eye with a bland look.**

"**Y-yes Your Honor," Rector said, "Kuh-kurt worked at the kuh-company. He he was wuh-one of the puh-pro programmers fuh-fffuh on the website. He duh-didn't have a kuh-criminal reh-record. Wuh-we hired him because of his expertise."**

"**He was an outside hire, correct?" Edgeworth prompted, "Not one of your circle of friends?"**

"**Y-yes sir," Rector said, "Muh-most of us that stuh-stuh-started the company met in puh-prison. Buh-but we didn't have all the toolsss we needed to ree-really start an online suh-ssss-service. Ssso So we had to hire out ex-expertsss."**

"**Thank you Mr. Rector," Edgeworth said.**

The judge again allowed the defense to cross-examine. Miles watched her with a quiet calm, cleverly hiding his shock at having to deal with a defense that bluffed and blundered it's way through the trial. He couldn't remember ever dealing with a defense like this—well except for Fey's trial maybe. Phoenix on his second case was a lot like this Shield woman—except his client was actually innocent. Miles' case against Sheinheilig was airtight.

He let her stall for a few more minutes.

"**Objection, Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "She's badgering my witness."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said—obviously bored with her pointless nitpicking.**

Miles asked Rector to testify again, this time on Sheinheilig's work habits. Shield was starting to look frazzled in the defense's corner. He rolled his shoulders a little while Rector stuttered through the next block of testimony. Miles let Shield cross-examine again—maybe he was hoping for a fight. The kind of fight Phoenix Wright would've put up.

Miles watched her become more flustered as she pressed and prodded the witness and poor Rector patiently stumbled through the answers to her questions. Miles caught the Judge cringing a few times through the cross-examination. Miles thought he'd coached him well—compared to this morning, Rector hardly stuttered at all.

Miles called in an expert witness next—after Shield had run out of steam and finally conceded that she'd had no further questions. The man was a psychologist who consulted for Federal Investigators and Gant had been very happy when Miles informed him of the doctor's involvement. Miles had twelve autopsy reports in front of him, the twelve victims that he was able to tie to this case.

"**Please state your name and occupation for the record," Edgeworth said.**

"**My name is Frank Steinberg," the doctor said, "I'm a Criminal Psychologist Specializing in Serial Murder Cases."**

"**Doctor Steinberg," Edgeworth said, "Tell us a little about your background."**

Miles looked over to see Shield squirming at the defense table. Dr. Steinberg had been studying serial murderers for years. As the doctor listed credential after credential and the agencies and police departments he'd consulted for, Miles thought she he could see her shrinking. Why had he been nervous before?

"**Thank you Doctor Steinberg," Edgeworth said, "We've confirmed twelve victims in this case—you've reviewed the autopsy reports and profiles on each victim, correct?"**

"**Yes," Doctor Steinberg said.**

"**Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "The Prosecution wishes to enter these documents into evidence."**

"**OBJECTION!"**

"**What is it Ms. Shield?" The judge said.**

"**The defense has not been made aware of this evidence."**

**Edgeworth allowed himself a smug little smile, "Your Honor, the Prosecution also wishes to enter this hand receipt into evidence—denoting the date and time when said documents were received by the Defense from the Criminal Affairs Department."**

**The judge tapped his gavel with a sigh, "Overruled. Thank you Mister Edgeworth."**

"**Doctor Steinberg, based on these documents, what can you tell us about the murderer in this case?"**

Doctor Steinberg's testimony was thorough and damning. Miles had this in the bag. He hadn't had a trial like this in a long while—a very long while. Simple, open and shut. The long testimony took them well past noon and the judge recessed for lunch. Miles met the Doctor in the Witness lounge.

"Doctor Steinberg," Miles greeted him.

The Doctor smiled at him, "Mister Edgeworth, I was disappointed that I missed you this morning."

"Sorry Doctor," Edgeworth said, "I was tied up."

"So I presumed," Doctor Steinberg said, "No matter. What do I have to expect from this other lawyer?"

Miles gave him a pained smile, "She's going to try to drag this out. She'll going to attack every point in your testimony and attempt to obfuscate the truth. I have a feeling she's going to try and tell us her client is insane."

"Now, we talked about this, son," Doctor Steinberg said, "This is not the work of a crazy person. Deranged, yes. Sociopathic, yes. But not crazy. Someone with a mental deficiency is incapable of killing like that."

"Good," Miles said, "That's what the judge needs to hear."

Doctor Steinberg nodded.

"Her ultimate goal will be to discredit you," Miles said, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, "So I have to ask one last time, is there anything you've done—or were involved in—or anyone you know that may impede your ability to—"

Miles bore into the man with his eyes, searching for the slightest wavering.

"My dear boy," the Doctor said shaking his head as if Miles had just told him the sky was pink, "We've discussed this before. I assure you—there are no skeletons in my closet. I'm not that kind of doctor."

Miles smiled slightly at the man's joke, "All right. Did you want something to eat? They're bringing lunch."

"Yes that would be very good," the Doctor said.

Miles walked out of the witness lounge, feeling like nothing could stop this train—not this time.

* * *

_"Miles," she said when she poked her head in, "You have a visitor."_

_ Miles jumped up from his desk and left the classroom. The principal was there and so was that man. Miles eyed the two of them with trepidation._

_ "Miles Edgeworth?" that man said, "How have you been?"_

_ Miles just stared mutely at him—why was that man here?_

_ "You can come to my office," the principal said. Miles frowned; he'd never had to go to the principal's office before. Larry had to go all the time—and it never seemed like a good thing._

_ Miles fell in beside that man as the principal led them along the empty corridor. Miles didn't like his new school. But it was near the orphanage—that's where he was staying now. He'd only lived there a few days, it wasn't bad, really, but Miles didn't understand why he couldn't just stay at his Dad's house. Or with one of his friends._

_ That man put a hand on Miles' shoulder, and Miles looked up at him—eyes wide._

_ "Don't you remember me, Miles Edgeworth?" Miles didn't like how that man kept saying his full name over and over again._

_ "No, sir," Miles answered._

_ "My name is Manfred Von Karma," that man said._

_ "Oh," Miles said—he remembered. Von Karma was the prosecutor in Dad's last case—the one he lost before he died._

_ "I'm so sorry for your loss, Miles Edgeworth," Von Karma said, his voice grated sickeningly with the sentiment. Miles couldn't believe him if he wanted to._

_ The principal left them alone in his office, but he left the door open—explaining to Von Karma something about safety of the children. Von Karma was simpering toward the man—assuring him that he only had Miles' best interests in mind._

_ "I would've come sooner, but I had an emergency abroad," Von Karma said._

_ Miles blinked at him—not having expected to see that man at all._

_ "Why are you here?" Miles said._

_ "To rescue you," Von Karma said._

_ "It's so terrible what you're going through," Von Karma said, "Orphaned at so vulnerable an age. Having to live in a dump and go to a school like this."_

_ "It's fine," Miles said._

_ "Oh, I know, you're a brave fellow," Von Karma said, "You've been taking it all in stride, haven't you?"_

_ "I guess," Miles said._

_ "But you deserve better than this, don't you think?"_

_ "Um…" Miles said, "I'm okay here, but I liked my old school better."_

_ Von Karma shook his head, "Miles Edgeworth, do you know what happened yesterday?"_

_ Von Karma waited for Miles to answer and Miles stared blankly at him—he had no idea what the man was driving at._

_ "Your father's killer went free," Von Karma grinned when he said it and Miles swore the room darkened just a little._

_ "What?" Miles said._

_ "He had a good defense attorney," Von Karma leaned back in his seat and shrugged, "They called in a spirit medium and she lied. Said Yanni Yogi shot your father, but we know he didn't, don't we? The police have nothing else to go on—somewhere, there's a killer running around with your father's blood on his hands. Such a terrible thing."_

_ Miles stared at Von Karma—did he know something?_

_ "What's going to happen now?" Miles said._

_ "Who can say?" Von Karma said, "What will become of a world like this where innocent people—good people, like your father—can be killed left and right with no regard for their lives? No justice? What kind of world is this?"_

_ Miles hugged himself, he couldn't turn his head away from that icy stare._

* * *

Miles pulled his car up in front of the arrivals exit at the International Airport. He parked and took his key out of the ignition. She was nowhere in sight. Miles got out of the car and stood leaning against the door. He checked the time again—had he missed her?

Miles took out his phone and thumbed the screen to find the number in his contacts and hit the send button.

"Miles!" It sounded like Franziska, but not. She was giggling.

"Franziska, is that you?"

"This is my phone, Little Brother, who else would it be?"

"I'm outside," he said, "Where are you?"

"I'm still at the baggage claim," she said, "Come get me!"

Miles groaned, and nodded—then realized he was on the phone, "Which baggage claim?"

"4B," she said.

He hung up and walked up to the nearest attendant, "She's at the baggage claim, I'll be right back."

"Sir, you can't park—"

"I'll be right back," Miles said and slipped him a fifty, "I'll give you another if everything's in order when I get back."

The attendant grinned, "You can count on me, sir."

Miles walked through the door; this part of the terminal was nearly deserted at this time of day—especially on a weekday. He moved gracefully toward the baggage claim, cutting a path opposite of the human traffic moving toward the door. His phone rang as he walked.

"Edgeworth," he said, bringing it to his ear.

"Why'd you hang up?"

"I'm coming toward you now," Miles said, "I didn't see the need to be on the phone."

"But what if you missed me?"

"It's not that busy right now."

"Fine," Franziska hung up on him. She probably just wanted to be the one to hang up. The thought almost made him chuckle.

He paused when he entered the bustle of the baggage claim. He looked at 4B—the belt was turned off and deserted—she'd given him the wrong number. Miles started walking along the separate conveyers looking for the one displaying her flight number. He saw her standing with a tiny carry-on at the edge of the crowd in front of 2C and playing with her phone.

Miles frowned and walked up behind her. He tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly fell over, but he put out an arm to steady her.

"Miles!" Franziska grinned and threw her arms around his neck.

"Are you dru—?!"

"Miles, I was going to call you, because I'm at 2C not 3A," she said.

"How many times do I have to tell you, you cannot drink in this—"

"Stop," she swung her arm at him and Miles noticed that she had a new riding crop, "I'm not a little girl."

"You're still a minor," He said and took her arm in his hand to lead her toward the exit.

"Wait," She tried to pull her arm out of his grip, "My luggage!"

Miles looked down at the wheeled carry-on she had by the handle, "Isn't that your luggage—"

"Miss, I have your bags!" the attendant was a tiny man pushing an airport buggy loaded with bulging designer luggage.

"Oh thank you!" Franziska tipped the man, "Miles, do you mind?"

Miles frowned at the luggage, "You're not moving in are you?"

"Stop complaining," Franziska said.

Miles took the cart from the little attendant and started pushing it with an expression of foreboding.

"You always over pack," Miles said, "I thought you'd be in for the weekend…"

"No, I'll stay for the month," she said, "Doctor Heilmittel said I need a break. I wouldn't want to risk my perfect record."

"A new Doctor?" Miles said raising an eyebrow.

"What of it?" Franziska said.

"How was your flight?" Miles said, hoping to turn the conversation away from the uncomfortable.

"Long," Franziska said, "But the champagne was very good."

Miles shook his head, "One of these days, you'll learn the hard way."

"Like you did?" Franziska said and she put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

Miles' impassive face cracked into a small smile, "Ancient history."

"Have you been to see my Papa?" Franziska said.

"No," Miles said, "But his case will be at the High Court soon. I hope they put him away for good."

Franziska smacked him on the cheek with her riding crop, "Don't say that."

"How about we don't talk about it?" Miles said glaring now, Franziska glared back. She had her father's glare. Miles focused on the bags in front of his face—not wanting to let her see his trepidation.

Franziska was pouting slightly and she fell behind as he led her toward the door. Miles stopped the cart and looked back at her, she was messing with her phone again. Miles made a face; teenagers…

"Franziska, you can play with that in the car, let's go," he said.

"Stop it," she said and swung her riding crop in his direction, "I'm not a little girl."

They exited the airport and the attendant grinned at him and motioned toward the unmolested car.

"You still drive that stupid little car?" She said derisively. Miles shot her a look as he paid the attendant.

"Can you get me a taxi?" Miles asked him, "One of the mini van ones?"

Miles unlocked the car with the fob and led her around to the passenger's side and opened the door.

"Could you take of your shoes, please?" He said when she sat, but before she had brought her legs in. Franziska glared at him again and she made a few noises to show her annoyance, but she complied—having lost this argument before—and handed over her shoes.

"You're so OCD," she muttered as he tapped her shoes together to shake off whatever imaginary dirt he was afraid of and handed them back to her.

"I got a cab for your bags," he said, ignoring her earlier comment, "they'll be a few minutes behind us."

He closed her door and went to settle with the cab driver before climbing into the driver's seat. Franziska was poking at her phone when he started the car and pulled out of the terminal loading and unloading zone.

"Miles," Franziska said, "What's going to happen to me now?"

He glanced at her, shocked at how vulnerable she suddenly seemed. She was only a girl—barely seventeen—and her father had just been convicted for murder. Miles didn't speak right away, but focused instead on the red light keeping them in airport traffic.

Franziska hugged herself and leaned against her window, and that almost broke his heart—almost.

"You've done very well on your own, love," Miles said—hoping he sounded sympathetic enough.

"But," Franziska said, "I wasn't really alone. Papa was always there—in the periphery anyway. Now it's just me… Alone in the world."

"I'm here," Miles said, "and Heidi. If you needed someone in Germany, Heidi wouldn't turn you away."

"I don't want anything from Heidi," she said venomously, "and you're all the way over here."

"How hard was it for you to get out here?"

Franziska pulled her knees up and put her feet on the seat, Miles couldn't help checking to make sure they were still unshod.

"Miles, what was it like for you when you lost your father?" She asked.

Miles glanced at her and felt his hands tighten on the wheel involuntarily. When he looked out of the windshield his vision blurred.

"Miles?"

The car behind him honked and Miles stumbled out of his reverie. The light was green and judging by the impatience of the drivers stuck behind him, it had been green for a while. He jerked the car into gear and sped off.

"Miles, I asked you a—"

"I heard you," he said—maybe more forcefully than he'd intended, "I don't want to talk about it."

Franziska's brow furrowed, eerily like Manfred Von Karma's brow furrowed. Miles couldn't make himself look at her after that.

"It's not the same thing and you know it," Miles said after he'd calmed a bit.

He turned onto the ramp and shifted into third and then fourth as he brought the car up to speed. Franziska was staring at her phone in her hands; her platinum locks fell over her face. She jerked involuntarily each time he changed lanes, all the while increasing his speed.

"Miles," she said after a while, "You're going faster than ninety… this isn't the Autobahn…"

His eyes flicked to the gage and he pulled his foot off the gas for a moment, enough to bring the car down to an acceptable speed.

"I'm just trying to understand…" she said; her voice barely audible in the speeding car.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Miles is Miles in this story—but he's Edgeworth in court!_

_Dr. Steinberg—because "Frank N. Stein" was just too obvious…_

_Franziska! (Went back through the game-I know such a stickler-she's almost 18); I like the idea that Franziska's whip gets more dangerous as she gets older—hence the riding crop._

_Yeah, Miles' driver's side is on the right. He's one of 'those' car guys—wonder how he feels when they throw a dead body in his trunk…?_

_UPDATED 22SEP_


	13. Finger Quotes

**Chapter 13**

**Finger Quotes**

_That was the second time Miles ever flew on an airplane. He didn't remember it being so awful, but then, he'd never flown to Germany before. He sat next to Mr. Von Karma on the plane, but Von Karma did not speak to him._

_ Miles wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he was going to stay with Mr. Von Karma. He was at school one day and Mr. Von Karma came and took him back to the orphanage and he had to pack his things. Miles stayed at Von Karma's big house outside the city for a few days and then they went to the airport._

_Miles liked the airport. It was like seeing the whole world in one building. Everyone had somewhere to go and something to do and no one seemed to be idling about. But the flight was another story. The flight was very long, and somehow along the way the pilot managed to find not just one, but three storms. He wasn't sure why, but they frightened him terribly. Mister Von Karma seemed very disappointed about that—Miles figured that was why the man didn't speak to him._

_Miles never remembered being so terrified of things like that—earthquakes and turbulence. Then the images of that night crept into his mind—that might've been what triggered all of that. Miles couldn't sleep on the flight._

_They landed in Frankfurt and Miles found that he was exhausted after the flight. Von Karma kept telling him to stop acting like a child and keep up. He ended up smacking Miles in the ear every time he nodded off. Miles tried to explain to him what happened on the flight—but Von Karma only said something about 'Edgeworth's line' and maybe he'd been mistaken and Miles was too sleepy to really understand._

_They were picked up at the airport by a chauffeur in a very fancy car—Miles later learned that it was custom built in the style of the old Packers of the 1920's but updated with the latest in German engineering for performance._

_He missed his first glimpse of the city, having fallen asleep almost immediately upon settling in the back seat of the car. But he remembered being shaken roughly awake in the drive of an ancient looking mansion. Von Karma wasn't one to hold Miles' hand but he was forced too, as Miles was still groggy, and he kept gaping up at the façade of the Von Karma house._

_ Miles was half dragged toward the big house and he tripped once on the stone stairs—he later found an ugly purple bruise on his knee from that—until Von Karma found a maid to take him. She protested in German—at least that's what it sounded like—but then Miles didn't know enough German to really say what the maid asked Mister Von Karma._

_ She took him upstairs and made him take a bath and even came in twice while he was washing to make sure, he did it up to standard. The clothes he was given to wear didn't fit right, as he was taller and thinner than the intended recipient. But he'd manage and Miles didn't complain—even though they were kind of frilly and heavy with brocade and lace. It was kind of like dressing up for Halloween. Miles frowned as the maid straightened his jacket. He had spent Halloween with Larry and Phoenix. Now he was in Germany, and he didn't know when they'd be going back._

_ "Um," Miles asked the maid, "How long will I have to stay here?"_

_ She glared at him for a moment and then returned to fastidiously adjusting his costume—she only spoke German._

* * *

**January 9, 11:50 A.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 2**

Miles slammed his fist on the tabletop and glared at the defense and her bouncing pixie-haircut. She couldn't be serious?

"**Doctor Steinberg," she said and flicked the blown-up photo in her hand and leaned against the witness stand, "Please take a look at exhibit A, and tell me how this constitutes, professional behavior."**

Miles was starting to sweat, he could feel it trickle between his shoulder blades; he wanted desperately to take off his jacket. He tugged at his cravat and pixie-haircut glanced sidelong at him and had the audacity to smile. Doctor Steinberg was sweating too—sweating bullets—and wiping his face with a red polka dot handkerchief.

"**Witness! Explain yourself," Edgeworth said.**

"**W-well," Doctor Steinberg said.**

The doctor was starting to stutter like Rector, and Miles grimaced at him. Hadn't they asked him about this? Hadn't they done a background check? Hadn't he come highly recommended?

"**The court demands an explanation, Doctor," the Judge said.**

"**It's not what it looks like," Doctor Steinberg said, "We were conducting a—um re-enactment for a Federal Investigation."**

"**Hmm," the Judge said, "Why don't you tell us about that."**

**Edgeworth relaxed; maybe he could still salvage this.**

**Doctor Steinberg wiped his face again and cleared his throat to begin his next testimony, "I get called in to help with a lot of investigations all over the country. Some agencies take a different approach. I swear I'm not a necrophiliac."**

"**What's a necrophiliac?" the Judge said.**

"**That's when someone makes—" Shield said.**

"**Uh, Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "Let's not go there…"**

"**Now I really want to know," the Judge said.**

"**You really don't, Your Honor," Edgeworth said.**

"**What's the matter, sonny boy?" Shield said and grinned wickedly at him, "Your tightie-whities a little too tightie?"**

**Edgeworth just glared at her.**

"**Your Cross-examination," the Judge said to Shield.**

"**Thank you, Your Honor," she said. Edgeworth stared stonily at her, she was ten times worse when she thought things were going her way.**

"**You said you get called in to do all kinds of investigations—are they all murder investigations?"**

"**Yes," Doctor Steinberg said, "Most of them are serial murders, but sometimes it's hard to tell."**

"**What do you mean?"**

"**On several occasions, I've been called in to a police agency to look at the possibility that several homicide cases are related, only to determine that they were in fact disparate cases."**

"**What do you mean, by desperate—"**

"**Disparate," Edgeworth interjected, "Not similar or contrasting. I think the doctor meant to say, the cases were determined to be unrelated."**

"**Well," Shield said, "I bet you're fun at parties."**

**Edgeworth frowned at her.**

"**Please continue," the Judge said.**

"**Doctor Steinberg, you stated that some agencies take a—," Shield held up her hands and made finger quotes, "'different approach' in their investigative process—can you elaborate?"**

"**Objection, Your Honor, the defense is merely trying to waste our time—it's irrelevant to this case how other agencies conduct their investigations," Edgeworth said.**

"**Well," Shield said, "Maybe your—" she made finger quotes at him—"'Agency' might learn a thing or two about investigating."**

"**Overruled," the Judge said, "We might learn something, new."**

**Edgeworth gnashed his teeth. Shield smirked at him.**

"**Go ahead, Doctor Steinberg," Shield said.**

"**Not all of the agencies that consult with me are police departments. I get called in to do Federal Investigations too. Sometimes, we are merely focused on building a criminal's profile—not necessarily to make an arrest. Sometimes the criminal is already in custody, or deceased. That means sometimes we have to do re-enactments of the crimes, since the evidence is old, degraded, or non-existent."**

"**Is that why you went and had intercourse with the dea—"**

"**OBJECTION! That's gratuitous and vulgar!"**

"**OBJECTION! You're gratuitous and vulgar!"**

"**OBJECTION!" Edgeworth shouted at her, fuming. He was still breathless after his last objection.**

**The entire courtroom was silent.**

"**Well? Mister Edgeworth?" the Judge said breaking the silence.**

**Edgeworth had his arms crossed and his eyes closed, "I find the defense offensive."**

"**The Prosecutor is a prudish little snot," Shield said, "If he can't handle these proceedings he can go to traffic court."**

"**Um," the Judge said, "Mister Edgeworth?"**

**Edgeworth still had his arms crossed and his eyes closed, "Your Honor, what difference does it make if Doctor Steinberg is a creepy old man? That doesn't change the validity of his earlier testimony nor the fact that the defendant is a deranged mass murderer."**

"**I resent the term 'creepy-old-man'," the Judge said and Edgeworth was dismayed to see him making finger quotes.**

"**You're not creepy, Your Honor," Shield said, "You're distinguished."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said and held up his index finger, "Stop sucking up."**

"**Overruled," the Judge said, "Flattery will get you everywhere."**

**Edgeworth sighed wearily, "I think we're done with this witness."**

**The Judge smacked his gavel, "Next!"**

"**The Prosecution wishes to call—"**

"**OBJECTION!" Shield screamed, "I wasn't done!"**

"**Yes you were," Edgeworth said.**

"**Your Honor!"**

"**The Defense may speak," the Judge said.**

**Shield slapped the tabletop and leaned forward to glare at Doctor Steinberg and then Edgeworth, "I have no further questions Your Honor."**

**Edgeworth snorted derisively and crossed his arms again.**

"**The Prosecution wishes to call Sheila E. to the stand," he said.**

**Shield was glaring at him through the fringe of her pixie haircut.**

**A lanky man with a stubbly beard and a roped fedora took the stand and grinned around at the court audience.**

"**Please state your name and occupation for the record," Edgeworth said.**

"**G'day, I'm Sheila E," the man said, "I'm the night security guard at Ivy University. I wrestle gators during the day."**

**Edgeworth made a face; the Judge was staring curiously at the man.**

"**Um, Sheila…?" the Judge said.**

"**Yeah, Pop?" Sheila said.**

"**Nothing—it just seems like an odd name," the Judge said.**

"**Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "Mr. E was present on the night Chitty Bang was attacked by the defendant—he was the first responder, if you will."**

"**Oh," the Judge said, still eyeing Sheila with a sidelong glance.**

"**Mr. E," Edgeworth said, "Please testify about the night you met Chitty Bang."**

**Sheila grinned and touched the brim of his hat, "Sure thing, mate!"**

**Shield wasn't looking at the witness, she was staring at Edgeworth, and he gave her a sidelong glare in return. Sheila cleared his throat.**

"**So I'm the night guard at the University, and I was in the guard box that night. This Sheila come up to me—let me tell you she was buck ass naked—"**

"**Um," Edgeworth said, "What did we talk about earlier?"**

"**Right," Sheila said sheepishly, "she had no clothes on—not a strip—and she was all scared like. She said that a man had come into her window, and he'd tried to choke her. But she got away, and came to me. She said her name was Chitty Bang."**

"**Oh my," the Judge said, "Who is Chitty Bang again?"**

"**Chitty Bang was the first victim to come to the police," Edgeworth said, "Because she was able to escape with her life."**

"**Oh, right," the Judge said, "Shield, your cross-examination?"**

Miles was back in his element, after the close call with Doctor Steinberg, he expected Shield to put up more of a fight. He managed to get two eyewitnesses through their testimony and cross-examinations before the Judge ended the trial for the day. He was back on top and that's exactly where he wanted to be.

Gumshoe met him on the courthouse steps with a very bored and pouty Franziska in tow. Gumshoe grinned at him.

"How'd it go, sir?"

"Well enough," Miles said and looked at his adoptive sister, "Did you behave yourself?"

"Don't talk to me like that," Franziska said. Miles looked at Gumshoe.

"She was great," Gumshoe said and he frowned and rubbed his neck, "I have to run by the precinct."

"Thanks, Gumshoe," Miles said and put a hand on Franziska's shoulder. He directed her back down the courthouse steps toward the parking lot.

"What did you do today?" Miles asked her.

"That scruffy detective took me to Lordly Tailor," she said, "Then he got a call, so I went with him."

"What kind of call?"

"A break in," Franziska shrugged, "You know, if I was prosecuting, this trial would already be over."

Miles couldn't stop himself from smiling, "Oh really?"

"Please Miles, I've been prosecuting almost as long as you have," she said and tapped her riding crop against her thigh for emphasis.

"This trial is very big," Miles said, "Chief Skye had to fight to prosecute the case in this district. It's going to take a few days just to get through all of the evidence."

Franziska made derisive noise, "Stop bragging, Miles."

Miles shrugged and opened the car door for her, "Uh shoes…"

"Doesn't the car have mats for a reason?" She said as she handed her shoes over one at a time, "Be careful with those, you can only get those in Paris."

Satisfied that they were free of dirt, Miles set her shoes on the car floor next to her feet and closed her door. Franziska was poking at her phone when he sat at the wheel and started the car. Miles looked at her with a frown, "I'm sorry about all this," he said, "I tried to get out of it, but Chief Skye insisted."

She only shrugged and continued to play on the phone.

"You've been losing all of your cases, lately," she said without looking up, "So you ought to be working to rebuild your reputation."

Miles shook his head and chuckled. Franziska paused and looked up from her phone, "What's so funny Miles?"

"It's not just about winning, Franziska," Miles said, "These trials aren't a race for personal glory, people's lives are on the line—I learned that last year."

Franziska raised an eyebrow and looked sidelong at him, "If you'd worked a little harder at being perfect, you wouldn't be on a case you might lose. You can refuse to prosecute if the defendant is innocent."

Miles shifted down and frowned at the glaring red light, one foot on the brake and the other just touching the clutch in anticipation. Her father hadn't refused to prosecute his trial. Miles glanced at his little sister, but was distracted when the light flashed green.

"Miles," Franziska said, "I'm going to visit Papa tomorrow."

"Okay," Miles said, "I'll be in court. Wellington can take you, unless you wanted to go with Gumshoe."

"Why are you friends with that hobo?"

Miles frowned again. He didn't know why he felt defensive, "We're colleagues. That's all."

"He talked about you all day, like you were a god," Franziska shifted in her seat never taking her eyes off of her phone.

"What are you doing on your phone?" Miles said.

"I'm chatting with Geoffrey," she said.

"You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone," Miles said.

"Why, are you jealous?" Franziska looked at him and grinned wickedly.

Miles laughed, "No."

"Besides, Geoffrey isn't my boyfriend. He was the victim in my last trial, and we get along. Is Gumshoe your boyfriend?" Franziska said.

"Now you're being silly," Miles said.

Franziska put her phone down and leaned forward in her seat, "Do you have a girlfriend, Miles? Have you ever had a girlfriend since—"

"Why are you worried about that?" Miles said.

Franziska shrugged, "Because you're getting old. You look haggard."

Miles grinned and shook his head, "Will you look after me, when I get my wheelchair? Change my diapers?"

Franziska laughed, "Eww no! I didn't mean… You're not that old—even Papa is still pretty spry—and he's almost three times your age."

Miles lost all trace of mirth at the mention of Manfred Von Karma. His brow furrowed; Manfred was her father. She'd always talk about him.

"Can we go dancing tonight?"

"I have court tomorrow," Miles said.

"Can I go alone then?"

"No," Miles said.

"You must be the most boring person on earth!"

"It's because of my advanced age," Miles chided and Franziska answered by sticking her tongue out at him. She picked up her phone again.

* * *

_"Miles," he told the little girl when she asked him what his name was. She was only about four years old—but precocious—and surprisingly well spoken at her age._

_ Miles had been staying at the Von Karma house for almost two weeks, but this was the first time he'd ever seen her._

_ "She stays with her sister, when I'm away," Mister Von Karma explained when they went to pick her up from the train station._

_ She stared at him now, examining him carefully as she walked around him in circles._

_ "You're too big," she said finally, "I wanted a little little brother."_

_ "I'm nine—" Miles started to explain but she lifted a chubby hand and clapped her fingertips in a motion like a crab claw. Mister Von Karma did that too, it meant 'shut up'._

_ "I came first," she told him, "So you are my little brother."_

_ Miles didn't see any point in protesting—she was only a little kid; she'd figure it out when she was older._

_ "Papa!" she announced, "I want to visit Herr Detweiler, and Miles, my new little brother may come with me if he wants to."_

_ Mister Von Karma looked up from is book and glared at him, "Go with her, Edgeworth."_

_ Miles stood stiffly and waited for the little girl to lead the way. He shot one look toward the man as Franziska led him out of the library, but Mister Von Karma was already engrossed in his book._

_ "Who is Mister Detweiler?" Miles asked as she led him out the back door and onto the extensive grounds of the estate._

_ "Herr Detweiler," Franziska corrected, "He is very German and you'll upset him if your call him that."_

_ Miles frowned, "Okay."_

_ "Herr Detweiler is my horse," Franziska said, "He is the finest horse on the continent."_

_ "Oh," he said and his frown deepened, "I've never seen a horse up close before."_

_ "That is because you are unsophisticated," she said annunciating the word slow and precisely and Miles guessed that she must have heard someone else say the word before but didn't really know what it meant. He frowned, wondering who would teach a little girl to say things like that._

_ Miles slowed to look around as she led the way through the gardens—the estate had very nice gardens and he still hadn't had the opportunity to explore them at his leisure._

_ "Abbo! Bringen sie Herr Detweiler zu mir!" she called out as they neared the stables, "Abbo!"_

_ Abbo was a groom and groundskeeper for the estate, he was very tall and burly and Miles stood back when he approached. Franziska had no fear of the big man and he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the stable while she talked away in rapid-fire German. Miles was all but forgotten, but he jogged to catch them up._

_ She must have told Abbo about him, because the big man paused to look at him for a moment. Miles stared up at him with a frown. Abbo tugged at his handlebar moustache and nodded a greeting before turning back to his assigned task._

_ "There he is, Miles," Franziska pointed excitedly. Miles smiled._

_ The finest horse on the continent was a dappled grey pony with stubby legs and a potbelly. Abbo was busy placing the pony's tack and Franziska was left to wander about the stables. Abbo grinned jovially at Miles, "Sie sind Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles only nodded._

_ Abbo tightened another strap on the pony's bridle and then went to grab his saddle. Franziska was playing with some of the tack that had been left out for repairs. Miles startled when a long strip of leather fell across the top of his head. Abbo was already trying to take the horsewhip out of her hands and saying something to her in German. She argued with him for several minutes before looking at Miles._

_ "You're not hurt are you?" she asked._

_ "No," Miles said, "It surprised me—that's all."_

_ Franziska grinned and swung the horsewhip again and the leather fell right on top of his head. Miles was grateful her little arms didn't have the strength yet to hit him properly._

* * *

Miles opened the door to the stairwell and let Pess go in ahead of him. He jogged up the stairs after her and paused on his ninth floor landing to catch his breath. Pess licked his arm and scratched at the door. Miles was bent over and panting.

"Six miles," he told her half-scolding, "and you make me run up the stairs… You're trying to kill me."

Pess wagged her tail and looked up at him, tongue lolling. Miles let her into the corridor and followed. He was surprised when Wellington came out into the corridor to greet him.

"Sir," Wellington said.

"Is something wrong?" Miles said, he was sweating and did not want to stand around that way.

"Miss Von Karma, is terrorizing Mrs. Kucharka," Wellington said.

Miles frowned, "What happened?"

"She was awake at three in the morning—"

"I didn't see her when I left," Miles said.

"Well, sir," Wellington said—too polite to tell Miles that he'd been half-asleep when he took Pess and went for a run, "I think the girl is still having trouble with the time change. But Mrs. Kucharka, didn't know she'd be up, and no one deserves to be smacked like a dog with a crop."

Miles nodded, "Okay. I'll take care of it, Wellington."

Wellington turned and opened the door to let Pess and Miles inside. Miles glanced into the sitting room and saw Franziska sitting there with her arms crossed angrily. He continued into the kitchen where his cook was sitting in the corner, eyes red from crying. She jumped to her feet when she saw him.

"Mr. Edgeworth!" she squeaked.

"Madam," Miles said by way of greeting, "What is the problem here?"

"Oh, sir," the cook said trembling, "I wake up every morning before the sunrise, so you can have your breakfast ready and waiting when you want. But I cannot have breakfast at three in the morning too, sir. I simply can not!"

"No one's asking you to make breakfast at three in the morning," Miles said.

"But she is asking me, sir. And she woke me up and hit me with a horse whip," Mrs. Kucharka said.

"It's a riding crop—you'd know if it was a horsewhip," Miles said absently as he weighed her complaint in his head, "I'll talk with her, Cook, but in the meantime you'll leave the kettle full and the toaster out before you go to bed and Franziska can help herself. There's no reason to throw all of our lives into turmoil over a visit. Now go clean yourself up and don't worry about it anymore."

"Mister Edgeworth, thank you," Mrs. Kucharka said and gave a slight bow with her head, "You're such a nice young man."

"Take care," Miles said already turning away to talk to Franziska.

He lifted the edge of his shirt to wipe his face and frowned when he looked up to see Franziska staring up at him from the divan. Pess was resting her head in Franziska's lap.

"Miles you look incredibly hot this morning," she said turning her head so she could look at him sidelong.

"If there's a problem, you can ask Wellington to adjust the thermostat," Miles said still trying to think of a way to broach the subject of her abusing the cook.

"Franziska, I know you only just got in and you're still having problems with the time change—"

"I didn't know you ran. How far did you run? Do you go often?"

"Franziska—"

"Are you trying to make yourself more attractive for the ladies?"

"Really, Franziska! Stop interrupting me; I don't have a lot of time. I have to be in court this morning, and thanks to you, I'm going to have to get breakfast on the way."

"She wouldn't make hot water for me!"

"You can turn on a kettle yourself, Franziska," Miles said, "There's no need for you to go terrorizing my staff!"

"Fine!" Franziska said, "But this morning I couldn't find the kettle, you don't expect me to go rummaging about in your kitchen like a housewife do you?"

"Well, no," Miles said, "I don't expect you to go rummaging about anywhere in my-my—it that MY SHIRT!?"

"Oh this?" Franziska said and she tossed her hair and held up an arm so he could see how the large cuff of the crisp white shirt fell over her delicate hand, "Now don't get excited, you have so many of them, and they smell nice. I thought I'd help myself."

"I ought to send you to your father's house!" Miles said coldly and crossed his arms.

"Miles!" Franziska said and stood up to glare more directly at him, "I don't want to stay in that big house by myself, if you don't want me here, I'll get a room at the Gatewater."

"I'm not paying for a hotel," Miles said, "just so you can run amuck in the city."

"I don't do anything 'amuck'," Franziska said holding up her hands in finger quotes, "I'm perfect!"

Miles groaned and ran his hand through his hair, only to find that it was still damp with sweat. Miles grimaced and wiped his hand on his shirt.

"I'm going to get ready," Miles said and turned away from her, "Behave yourself, and maybe we'll go out this evening."

"Ooh where?" Franziska said, but Miles had already disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Brooke N. Shield… I was going for the female version of Winston Payne + Jim Carrey in Liar Liar… I don't think Edgeworth is a fan…_

_It's weird rooting for the Prosecution in this case…0.o_

_Pess… Aww… I ought to draw a picture of that dog… Especially since my cover picture of Edgeworth looks retarded…_

"_finger quotes"… man, I hate finger quotes…_

_The point here… a little of their sibling squabbling…_

_Miles' household servants:_

_Butler: Edmund Wellington (def inspired by Archer's Woodhouse)_

_Cook: Mrs. Kucharka (she's eastern European)_

_Maid: Ada Harris (If anyone can guess that reference, they get a prize)_

_I don't speak German at all, so any corrections to my limited translations would be greatly appreciated._

_There is an explanation as to why Edgeworth has such a large household and staff…._

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	14. Mistrial

**Chapter 14**

**Mistrial**

_"Daddy!" Miles awoke screaming. The room he slept in was large and though he'd lived there for nearly a year, it still felt like he was only visiting. He covered his mouth with his hands, did he cry out? He hoped he didn't cry out—maybe it was just in his head. Miles' heart was pounding and he shivered slightly. He sat up and slid back between the pillows so that his back was against the headboard and drew his knees up to his chin. Miles started to rock._

_ He hoped he hadn't said anything out loud—he didn't want to have to see Mister Von Karma—not in regard to this. Miles wasn't sure what frightened him most anymore, the terrors that manifested in his dreams, or Mister Von Karma's lectures and admonishment. Miles kept his hands clamped tightly over his mouth, he wouldn't cry—no he had to be strong, he wouldn't cry. Already he could feel the sobs rising up through his chest and beginning to wrack his shoulders._

_ Miles grabbed one of the large pillows and hugged it, burying his face. No one could see him like this. He cried into the pillow until his tears seemed to run out. He lay back down and stared out of the window until the sky outside paled with the first light of morning. He stayed in the big bed until he heard a rooster crow, the sound faded by distance but welcome nonetheless._

_ Miles slid out of the bed and hobbled stiffly toward the bathroom. He dressed himself after his morning ablutions—he couldn't get used to this. Everyday he was made to put on layers of archaic clothing—living here was like living in a Victorian Novel. He lifted his head so he could tie his neck cloth with the aid of the mirror. The little boy that stared back was taller—at least a little taller. The face was pale, the eyes hollowed with a bruised look that seemed to shadow his face. Miles frowned—he hardly recognized that boy anymore._

_ No matter how early Miles arrived at the breakfast table, Mister Von Karma was already there. Mister Von Karma used to say things to him when he arrived—asking how he'd slept, or if he'd hoped to learn something new. Miles told him once that he wanted to go home. After that, Mister Von Karma acted like he wasn't even there._

_ Breakfast was never changing; they were allowed tea and oatmeal porridge. Miles was starting to hate oatmeal—but one had to eat. After breakfast he went out into the garden and walked quietly along the paths until he was called in for lessons. Mister Von Karma certainly took very special care with his and Franziska's education._

_ The morning lessons were shared with the little girl and she was the only person in the great big house who seemed to acknowledge his presence most of the time. After luncheon with Franziska and Mister Von Karma—which always seemed brightened by the girl's antics—Miles spent the afternoon doing advanced lessons. Mister Von Karma said the education system Miles had grown up with was woefully inadequate, and he had a lot of catching up to do if he wanted to be anything more than just another Edgeworth._

_ Miles never understood what the man meant by that—the only Edgeworths Miles had ever known were all dead._

_ His afternoon lessons took him into supper. If he was lucky, he'd go outside with Franziska in the early evenings before the sun set. Usually he was back at his studies until the dreaded nighttime._

_ The days were so monotonous they blended together, and Miles could hardly tell one from the other and if it weren't for the length of his hair, Miles wouldn't have known that so much time had passed._

_ So of course Miles was very surprised that morning, when he came down for his tea and porridge and Mister Von Karma was not at the table. Instead he was met by a beautiful girl, with light brown hair and eyes like honey. She was dressed in clothes that looked like the clothes people wore in the city he'd left. She smiled sweetly at him when he joined her at the table._

_ "Guten Morgen," she said._

_ Miles was so surprised at her presence that he just stared._

_ "Are you Miles Edgeworth?"_

_ He nodded. She smiled at him, "My name is Adelheid Von Karma," she said, "I'm Franziska's big sister."_

_ Miles continued to stare dumbly at her. She giggled at him._

_ "Are you okay?" she said, "Can you speak?"_

_ "Yes," Miles said._

_ "You're a very cute boy," Adelheid said. Miles blushed and poked at his oatmeal with his spoon._

_ "Usually, I come and get Franziska when Papa has to go somewhere," Adelheid said, "But I asked if he'd let you come too. I thought maybe you'd like to see more of Germany."_

_ "Yes," Miles said._

_ Adelheid giggled at his reaction, "Perfect," she said._

_ "Adelheid," Miles said, "Do you know how long I'm going to stay here?"_

_ "Um, Miles," Adelheid said, "Didn't you know? You've been adopted. My Papa is your Papa now."_

_ Miles frowned, "I have a father."_

_ "He died Miles."_

_ "I know that," Miles said, "But he's still my father."_

_ Adelheid frowned at him, "Miles, are you well?"_

_ Miles nodded, it was such a strange question for her to ask._

_ They let silence stretch between them and Miles choked down a few spoonfuls of porridge. Adelheid watched him and she had an odd look on her face._

_ "Miles, what did your father do? I mean, what was his job?"_

_ "He was a defense attorney," Miles said._

_ Adelheid frowned, "I see…"_

* * *

**January 11, 1:50 P.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 2**

Miles drummed the edge of the prosecution table with his fingers. Things were deteriorating rapidly, for both sides. The Judge looked like he was about ready to nod off after the last cross-examination. Still Shield continued to press aimlessly, and linger on every word—desperate for some contradiction.

"**Objection," Edgeworth said, "This is meaningless and irrelevant banter. Doctor Scalpel has already made it perfectly clear that despite whatever damage the bodies may have sustained post mortem, the single cause of death in all twelve victims was strangulation."**

"**The hyoid was only broken in five of the victims," Shield countered.**

"**And we've already shown evidence that the killer began using ligatures in later episodes. I also shouldn't have to mention again that four of the victims were adolescents, under the age of sixteen. Your Honor, the defense is stalling."**

**The judge smacked his gavel, "Yes, I agree. Ms. Shield if you cannot derive any new information in your cross-examination, I ask that you stand down, so we can move on."**

**Shield glared at Edgeworth and then she glared at the Coroner and sighed, "The Defense has no further questions Your Honor."**

"**Great," the Judge said, "Mister Edgeworth?"**

"**The Prosecution has sufficiently presented its case, Your Honor."**

**The Judge smacked his gavel again, "Will the defendant take the stand? I see no reason to prolong this trial any further. Based on the case presented, the court finds Mr. Kurt Sheinheilig guil—"**

"**Hold on! Um, Your Honor," Shield said.**

**Edgeworth crossed his arms and glared at her.**

"**The Defense asks that you allow us to present our rebuttal. I believe that my client is innocent, Your Honor, and no one can attest to that better than he can."**

"**Does the Prosecution have a problem with that, Mister Edgeworth?"**

"**Other than wasting more of our time, the Prosecution sees no problem with Mr. Sheinheilig's testimony."**

"**Very well," the Judge said, "But I'm warning you Shield, if I find that Sheinheilig's testimony has no material bearing on this case, you will be held in contempt. No screwing around."**

"**Yes, Your Honor," Shield said and she shook her pixie haircut as if she'd just scored a victory. Edgeworth crossed his arms impatiently.**

"**The court will take a thirty-minute recess," the Judge said, "So that the Defense can prepare her witness." He smacked his gavel and then stood to leave. Shield smiled at Edgeworth as she gathered her things to leave.**

Miles walked into the Prosecution's lobby still frowning, it wasn't quite two o'clock and it had already been a long day. Franziska was sitting in the lobby looking very gloomy, in spite of the garish and spangley top she had purchased from the stylish and upscale Lordly Tailor and decided to wear today. Detective Gumshoe stood near her protectively, holding a cardboard takeout box; he was frowning too.

"Let's go to the cafeteria, I've only got half an hour," Miles said.

No one spoke and they made a rather morose trio as they headed toward the open space of the courthouse cafeteria. Miles saw the Judge there using his status to get to the head of the line. They picked a table at the back and Gumshoe set down the box and started to pass out paper plates and plastic cutlery. Franziska put an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand.

"Is everything all right Franziska?" Miles said pausing from his perusal of the take out containers in the box.

"Yes," she said, "Papa just looks so sad in prison."

Miles frowned, "It isn't supposed to be pleasant," he muttered and went back to serving himself from the Chinese food Gumshoe had brought.

"How is the trial going, sir?" Gumshoe said, already tucking in.

"I think everyone's had about enough of it," Miles said, "and I'm famished—and therefore distracted. That Shield just kept dragging things out—for no apparent reason."

"Why isn't it over yet?" Franziska said toying with a plastic fork on her empty plate.

"You better eat something," Miles scolded rubbing a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks together, "Now she wants to put the killer on the stand."

"You didn't object?" Franziska said, "This can go very badly for you—unless you're aiming for a perfect losing streak."

"I'm curious," Miles said, "Besides, our job is to convict beyond a reasonable doubt—so I don't see a problem with it."

Franziska took the carton of Lo Mein away from Miles and tipped it toward her plate, "I think you've cracked, Papa thinks so too. Like it doesn't matter to you anymore."

Miles paused and put down his chopsticks, "What doesn't matter?"

"Winning," Franziska said, "Putting criminals in prison. That's the whole point of what we do."

"If the defendant is truly innocent, then it's not really winning is it?" Miles said.

"If you've done a perfect investigation, then you can't lose," Franziska said.

"Sometimes things aren't so simple—especially with the tight schedules we have to work with now-a-days," Miles said, he checked his watch, "I should go."

"You still have ten—" Gumshoe said.

"I have to brush my teeth," Miles said abandoning his half-finished plate, but he rummaged in the takeout bag for an eggroll, "Thanks for bringing lunch—I'll pay you back later."

"It doesn't take ten minutes to brush—" Gumshoe started to protest.

But Miles was already walking away he waved at them to stay where they were. He finished his eggroll as he stepped into the small outdoor courtyard off of the cafeteria and pulled out his phone and thumbed through his contacts while dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He hit send on the phone.

"Detective Goodman," he said into the phone when the other line picked up, "This is Edgeworth. Do you have the profile on the brother ready? Can you have it sent over straight away? No, Gumshoe's here. Good, thanks. I'll see you then."

He hung up and dialed another number, "Chief, it's Edgeworth. The defense is going for it. Yeah, Detective Goodman has it and he should be on his way over shortly. No, I don't think it will be a problem. What? Well, Chief, if that happens I have a plan—don't worry about it."

Miles checked his watch again after he'd hung up and went to go brush his teeth.

* * *

_"I can't keep doing this with you," Manfred Von Karma said._

_ Miles stared mutely up at Mister Von Karma, he had his arms crossed and tried his best to look serious and determined, but Miles was frightened of the man._

_ "I don't understand it, all of them, your tutors, they tell me you're smart—so smart," Mister Von Karma shook his head, "Yet I find you've been sleeping during your lessons—are you that bored?"_

_ "No, sir," Miles said._

_ "Do you realize how much it costs for me to bring in teachers for you? When you sleep during your lessons it's like you're stealing from me!"_

_ Miles swallowed._

_ "When are you going to stop acting like a child, Miles Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles frowned; he was ten-years-old. Did kids in Germany become adults when they had two-digit ages?_

_ "When I was your age, I was already in court—preparing for my trade. You can't even get through your lessons. You're a waste of space Miles Edgeworth. You're stupid and lazy—but then what should I expect from an Edgeworth?"_

_ "I'm sorry, sir," Miles said his voice was small and suppressed in his fear._

_ "We Von Karmas, we are like lions," Mister Von Karma said, "You're like a mouse—insignificant and sneaking. What should I do with you?"_

_ "I'll try harder," Miles said._

_ "I just don't think that's enough anymore," Von Karma said, "At least, I've found a solution for one problem. In the fall you will start at the International School, you can celebrate your mediocrity with the rest of mediocrity."_

_ "What school?"_

_ "The in-ter-nah-shun-nal school," Von Karma said, "Do you know what international means?"_

_ "Yes, sir," Miles said._

_ "It's a boarding school," Von Karma said, "So you'll have to learn to stop crying like a baby in your sleep, or the other boys will make fun of you. Maybe someone there will get through to you, because, I'm at a loss."_

_ After relaying his news, Mister Von Karma left Miles alone in the study. Miles didn't like living with Mister Von Karma, but he didn't like the thought of moving to another home._

_ Miles turned back to the book he'd been reading before Mister Von Karma had come to tell him he was going to be sent away again. He stretched his fingers over the surface of the page. His knuckles were bruised and the marks stood out stark against his pale skin. Some of the tutors hit his knuckles if he did something wrong. Usually, he dozed off during lessons. Miles always tried to be a good student otherwise—he couldn't help it if was tired though. No one here could help him with that._

* * *

**January 11, 2:27 P.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 2**

"**Welcome back," the Judge said looking more energetic than he had before the recess, "I hope everyone is feeling better after a little break. The Prosecution is minty fresh—I saw him brushing his teeth just now."**

**Edgeworth frowned at the Judge, "The Defense was going to call a witness to rebut the Prosecution's case—keep me honest Mister Edgeworth…"**

"**Um, yes. That's correct Your Honor," Edgeworth said.**

"**Ms. Shield, your witness, please," the Judge said.**

"**Your Honor," Shield said, "the Defense would like to call Mr. Kurt Sheinheilig to the stand."**

The courtroom erupted in murmurs as the bailiff led the handcuffed defendant to the witness stand. He wasn't a striking man. Average height, slight paunch, light brown hair and brown eyes—nothing about him stood out at all.

"**Please state your name and occupation," Ms. Shield said.**

**Sheinheilig gazed nervously about the courtroom audience, "My name is Kurt… Kurt Sheinheilig. Until very recently, I was employed by Reformed and Reborn dot com."**

"**What did you do there?" The Judge asked.**

"**Sir, I was one of the web masters for the site."**

"**Web Master?"**

"**Yes, Your Honor, I managed the content of the website itself—how it looks to the general public. That sort of thing."**

"**Did your job give you access to client information?"**

"**No, Your Honor, the accounts managers dealt with client information. My job was to make sure the site worked the way Mr. Rector intended it to work."**

"**Hmm, interesting," the Judge said and Edgeworth wondered how much of what the witness said the Judge actually understood.**

"**Mr. Sheinheilig," Shield said, "Tell us about your background. Where you're from, what your family was like, how you ended up working for Reformed and Reborn dot com."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said, "you just asked three questions."**

"**Yes," the Judge said, "We don't need a narrative from the defendant. And let's keep your questions to those that relate directly to this case. If you don't have a good reason for the testimony, you'd best not ask."**

"**Yes, Your Honor," Shield said, "The Defense wants to establish the defendant's psychological state during the murders."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said.**

"**Sustained," the Judge said, "We've already heard sufficient expert testimony to that effect. I don't believe the defendant is qualified to talk about his own psychological state."**

"**Yes, Your Honor," Shield said, "Mr. Sheinheilig, tell us how you came to work at Reformed and Reborn dot com."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said, "That question has been asked and answered."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said, he was glowering now. Edgeworth crossed his arms.**

"**Mr. Sheinheilig," Shield said, "Have you ever met any of the victims—"**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said, "Argumentative… The Prosecution has already established the defendant's connection with each victim."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said, "Ms. Shield, are you trying to replay the entirety of the last three days of this trial? If there is nothing new, I'm going to make my ruling."**

"**Your Honor," Shield said, "I do have one question, Your Honor."**

"**Why didn't you just ask that question, and be done with it?" the Judge said.**

**Shield grinned sheepishly, "Mr. Sheinheilig, is there any physical reason that might have impeded your ability to commit the crimes that you have been accused of?"**

**A murmur ran through the court audience. The Judge pounded his gavel, "Order! I said Order!"**

**Shield looked at Edgeworth and grinned, he still had his arms crossed and was now tapping his finger impatiently.**

"**What is the meaning of this?"**

"**I thought the question was pretty direct, Your Honor," Shield said.**

"**Mister Edgeworth?" the Judge said. Edgeworth remained impassive.**

"**It was straightforward," he said.**

**The Judge looked at Sheinheilig, "Well? Are you going to answer the question?"**

"**Your Honor," Sheinheilig said, "There is one thing that makes it difficult for me to do most things."**

**The witness lifted his right arm and grabbed his elbow with his left hand and pulled off his arm. The court fell into frenzy. The Judge was speechless. Shield shook her pixie fringe in victory. Edgeworth smirked a little; he hadn't expected this much drama.**

**The Judge was pounding his gavel so violently his face turned red, "Order!" He shouted.**

"**I will have ORDER!" **

**In spite of the Judge's shouting it took several minutes for the courtroom to settle. The Judge was panting from his efforts to bring order to the proceeding.**

"**The Defense holds that the Defendant's disability makes it impossible for him to have committed the crimes for which he has been accused."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said almost drawling with ennui.**

**Shield looked at him shocked that he had anything to say about this—shocked that he didn't seem as surprised as everyone else.**

"**Mister Edgeworth?" the Judge said.**

"**She can't prove it," Edgeworth said coolly.**

"**He only has one arm," the Judge pointed out in a not so discreet whisper.**

"**Can you disprove it?" Shield said, "The Defense would like to point out that the Prosecution is saddled with the Burden of Proof."**

**Edgeworth glared at her, "Not so fast, I don't have to prove or disprove your claims."**

"**Because you can't."**

**Edgeworth made at noise at her, thinking he would gladly choke her out with one hand tied behind his back—if it would constitute proof enough that her claim was unfounded and flimsy. Of course, that would be a very uncouth thing to say in court.**

"**Edgeworth?" the Judge said.**

"**Your Honor," Edgeworth said with a shrug, "I realize that it must come as quite a shock to learn that the defendant only has one arm. But I, and the millions of disabled workers in this country will attest to the fact that such disabilities—while they might impair normal activities—do not prevent one's ability to live a normal and productive life."**

"**But of course," Edgeworth continued, "I don't expect anyone to take me at my word. Please turn your attention back to the following exhibit from Doctor Scalpel's earlier testimony."**

**He turned the projector back on and the coroner's photos filled the screen. The lit screen showed twelve gruesome close-ups of twelve mangled necks. Edgeworth walked out in front of the bench; he looked out into the audience and saw Franziska playing with her phone.**

"**Miss Von Karma will stand in for the victim," Edgeworth said.**

**She glared at him but Gumshoe was already pushing her toward the stairs. She stood in front of him in the middle of the courtroom glaring daggers at him. Edgeworth borrowed the bailiff's baton and took off his jacket.**

"**What is the meaning of this," Shield said.**

"**Your proof," Edgeworth said and he held up his left hand before sliding it behind his back, gripping his belt for good measure. He pointed with the baton at the screen.**

"**Victim number one," he said aloud, "Non-fatal blunt force trauma to the face and head."**

**He mimicked smacking Franziska with the baton, "The victim loses consciousness."**

**Franziska made an impatient noise and then lay down on the courtroom floor, Edgeworth placed the baton against her throat, "The killer uses his foot to apply enough pressure to crush the larynx and block her airway, killing the victim."**

**He stepped back and motioned for Franziska to stand and pointed with the baton again, "Victim number two, non-fatal bruising along the lower mandible."**

**He set down the baton and came up behind Franziska and slid his hand under her jaw so that the thumb and forefinger formed a choker against her throat where her neck met her head.**

"**Victim number two struggled," Edgeworth said and mimicked banging his forehead into the back of Franziska's skull, "Non-fatal trauma to the back of the skull. He broke her neck."**

**Edgeworth slid his arm so that Franziska's neck was caught in the crook of his elbow, "And held her there until she stopped breathing."**

"**Do you really need me to go on?" Edgeworth said turning to fix the Judge with his cold gray stare.**

"**That was fantastic! And that girl was very cute too," the Judge said.**

**Edgeworth dismissed Franziska with a nod and she hurried away from the center of the courtroom. He slid into his jacket and took a moment to straighten his cuffs.**

**Sheinheilig was trembling on the stand, "You should've done number five…"**

**Shield gaped at him, "OBJECTION!"**

"**You're the one who asked him to prove the crimes could be done one-handed," the Judge said. Edgeworth eyed Shield scrupulously.**

"**What did he say?" Edgeworth asked.**

"**Nothing!" Shield said, "That testimony was unsolicited and therefore illegal!"**

"**Did somebody say something?" the Judge asked.**

"**No, Your Honor," Shield said. Edgeworth's eyes narrowed—he couldn't let this guy go.**

"**Well?" the Judge said, "Is the Defense finished?"**

"**The Defense requests further testimony about the Defendant's family—specifically his relationship to Albert Sheinheilig."**

"**Objection," Edgeworth, "I want to see proof of relevance."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said, "If you can't provide proof that the victim's family relations are relevant to this case, you will be penalized."**

"**The Defense submits the following evidence," she walked up to the bench and laid a photo in front of the Judge.**

**Edgeworth leaned forward; he was hoping she wasn't quite so clever.**

"**Mister Edgeworth, please approach the bench," the Judge said.**

**Edgeworth walked up to the bench and glared at the photograph. Twin boys—identical twin boys. He'd seen this photo before. Edgeworth nodded begrudgingly at the Judge.**

"**The photo is valid," Edgeworth said, "But I still don't see how that makes the testimony relevant."**

"**Your Honor," Shield said, "The defendant has an identical twin brother. It's possible that his brother is the real killer."**

"**You can prove that?" Edgeworth said. No she couldn't, not without cheating—and Edgeworth wasn't going to let that happen.**

"**Very well," the Judge said, "I'll allow this testimony."**

**Edgeworth frowned as he walked back to his table. Shield looked happy again and her fringed pixie cut bobbed even more.**

"**Mister Sheinheilig," Shield said, "Tell us about Albert Sheinheilig."**

**The Defendant smiled cockily at the audience, "Gladly, Ms. Shield. Albert is my twin brother—we're identical twins. Albert and I have spent the majority of our lives together. When I started working for Reformed and Reborn dot com, I had to move away. Six months ago, Albert disappeared."**

"**What's significant about Identical Twins, Mister Sheinheilig? Specifically their DNA?" Shield asked.**

"**Objection!" Edgeworth said, "The Defendant isn't qualified to speak on the subject of DNA."**

"**Sustained," the Judge said.**

"**In regard to identical twins, have you ever been told by a doctor—"**

"**Objection," Edgeworth said, "You can twist that question as much as you like, but the Defendant will never magically become a Geneticist."**

"**Your Honor, the Defense wishes to present the following article from the New England Journal of Medicine."**

"**What's this?" the Judge said, "An article on identical twins. I don't see—"**

"**She wants to point out that identical twins also have identical DNA," Edgeworth said.**

**The Judge glared at the article in his hand and he looked up at the defense and then over at Edgeworth, "Both of you come here."**

"**The possibility of another person that fits the exact same profile as the defendant—right down to the DNA—casts a huge shadow of doubt on this case," the Judge said.**

**Edgeworth grimaced, Shield grinned.**

"**However, the mere possibility that Albert Sheinheilig is the killer, doesn't clear all suspicion from Kurt Sheinheilig. Can either of you prove that Kurt is innocent or guilty and do so in the next half-hour?"**

"**Your Honor," Shield said, "If we could have one more day—"**

"**You realize there are other cases on the docket in this district? As it were this trial has gone on entirely too long," the Judge glared at Shield.**

"**There's a limit to how long the trial can continue," Edgeworth said with a frown.**

**The Judge looked very flustered all of a sudden, "I'm going to take a five minute recess. Five minutes!" he smacked his gavel and ran back toward his chambers leaving Edgeworth and Shield alone together at the bench.**

Miles sighed, and put his hand on his stomach, "I feel sick."

Shield looked straight into his eyes, "Poor kid, come on, let's get you some water or something."

Miles let her lead him into the defendant lobby; the water fountain was in its own nook so that it wouldn't disrupt traffic. Miles took a drink from the fountain and turned to see Shield still standing very close to him. He cringed inwardly; he'd never had to do this before. He was sure it was only luck that the Defense Attorney was a woman. Miles smiled at her—sometimes it was hard to remember how to do it correctly when it was forced—and hoped that she would fall for it. She melted under her pixie-fringe.

"I've never gone up against so strong a defense," Miles said he angled his head toward the floor and gazed at her through his eyelashes.

"You're a smart kid," Shield said and Miles thought her voice was even more grating up close, "Don't sell yourself short."

Miles leaned toward her and put his mouth near her ear—hoping he wouldn't gag from her weird onion smell—and he whispered into her ear.

Her eyes widened, "Are you serious?"

Miles forced his saddest frown and nodded.

"You let me talk to Kurt, I can convince him."

"Thank you," Miles said, "I won't forget this."

Shield gave him a long simpering look before turning toward the doors to the courtroom. Miles walked around so he could enter through the prosecution lobby. This was a new low for him. The Judge still looked distraught when proceedings began again. Miles did his best to suppress any outward sign of relief when the defense stood up.

"**Your Honor," she said, "It seems we have come to an impasse. An issue propounded by the Prosecution has brought this trial to a point where no decision can reasonably be made without infringing on the rights of my client or his twin brother. Your Honor, the Defense motions for a Mistrial on the grounds that the Prosecution has failed to adhere to due process afforded by the laws of this state and the constitution."**

**The Judge picked up his head and looked around almost relieved. He looked at Edgeworth, "Does the Prosecution dispute this claim?"**

**Edgeworth hesitated and then shook his head, "No, Your Honor."**

"**You will be penalized," the Judge said.**

"**I understand Your Honor."**

**The Judge smacked his gavel, "This trial cannot continue, nor can the arguments presented herein be resolved in a reasonable manner. I declare this trial null and void. The case may be pursued for a retrial at a later date."**

"What was that all about?" "What happened back there?" "Edgeworth what did you do?" "Edgeworth are you crazy?" "Miles, did you throw that case?"

Miles brushed past the crowds and the questions and walked quickly down the courthouse steps. He had Franziska's arm in his hand and she followed him reluctantly toward the parking lot. He didn't even bother to check her shoes for dirt but closed her door and went around to the driver's seat. He rubbed his face wearily.

"Miles Edgeworth what are you playing at?" She said.

Miles didn't answer but he started the car and pulled out of the courthouse parking before the mob caught them up.

"You let the defense motion for a mistrial, how foolishly foolish—"

"The situation was a little more complicated than that," Miles said, "Kurt Sheinheilig really does have a twin brother named Albert. Albert's very existence effectively cancels out eighty percent of the evidence we used to arrest Kurt. Now, I think Albert is dead, that's what the police are speculating too—but nothing is conclusive yet. If the Judge declared a mistrial on his own, or if I motioned for a mistrial, we wouldn't be able to try Kurt Sheinheilig again, because of Double Jeopardy. That guy's guilty—I couldn't risk him getting away with it."

"Well it seems like a stupid and convoluted way to get the bad guy. Only a fool—"

Miles' phone started to buzz in his pocket and he fumbled in his jacket for it.

"You shouldn't drive and use your phone," Franziska said, and swatted at his hand before reaching into his pocket to get his phone.

"Edgeworth's phone," she said, Miles shot her an annoyed look, "Oh hi Dick!"

"You two are getting awful chummy," Miles grumbled and he stomped the clutch and shifted as he sped up to clear a yellow light.

"No, he's fine. Apparently that was his plan if he couldn't get the conviction. Um no, not yet… I will, okay. Talk to you later!"

"Are you plotting against me?" Miles said.

"Only you would say something like that in real life, little brother," Franziska said.

She was still holding his phone when it rang again, "Edgeworth's phone."

"Franziska, just give me my phone!" Miles said.

"No," Franziska said coolly, "He's driving. I'm Franziska Von Karma, who are you?"

"Oh, well what can I do for you? I told you, he's driving," Franziska made a face on the phone. Miles glanced between her and the windshield frowning.

"Oh, okay," Franziska said to the caller, "Miles, Chief Prosecutor Skye says you've got a lot of explaining to do."

"Give me my phone," Miles said and held out a hand. Franziska put her hand in his and continued listening to the caller.

"No, but Miles said that if the Judge or the Prosecution motioned for a mistrial, the defendant couldn't be tried again—right."

Franziska laughed on the phone. Miles' was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. He gritted his teeth.

"I'll tell him that anyway," Franziska said, "Miles, sometimes you do the most harebrained things. Enjoy your weekend Miles."

Franziska hung up and dropped his phone into his pocket.

"You're trying to make me crazy," Miles spat at her.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Miles Edgeworth… He still plays dirty in court…_

_Miles' boarding school "Hogarth's School of Lawyers and Lawyering"…. Nah, I didn't think so either…_

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	15. Monkey Puppet

**Chapter 15**

**Monkey Puppet**

_Franziska held his hand when they walked in the garden. Miles was tasked to make sure she didn't get dirty before they went in for their lessons. The five-year-old skipped on the garden stones counting each one in perfect German then switching to French and English. The frilly skirt of her dress bounced each time she landed._

_ It comforted him to see her so happy. She was always wont to smile—at least someone in the cold forbidding mansion still had it in them to do so._

_ "…zwei …drei …vier…" Hop, hop, hop she went, gripping Miles' hand for balance._

_ "Come," Miles said, "We should go up there now."_

_ "Um," Franziska said, "Can we stay outside instead? We can ask Herr Lehrer to meet us out here."_

_ "I don't think he'll want to do that," Miles said._

_ "Let's go," Miles said, "I don't want to be late again."_

_ "Late?" Franziska said, "No one cares if we're late."_

_ Miles usually got whacked on the knuckles for tardiness… Franziska probably just never noticed._

_ She stepped off the stone she was standing on and followed him, never letting go of his hand._

_ "I'm going to leave soon," Miles said._

_ "Where will you go?"_

_ "Your Papa is sending me to a boarding school," Miles said._

_ "What is that?" Franziska said, "Will you come back?"_

_ "For Holidays, I think," Miles said, "but I have to stay there for months at a time."_

_ "Four months?" Franziska said, "Is that a long time?"_

_ "Not four months," Miles said, "Several months."_

_ "That's like Weihnachten," Franziska said, "Whenever I ask Papa about Weihnachten he says it's still several months away."_

_ Miles smiled, "Yeah."_

_ Franziska pouted a little, "So now I will have to wait for Weihnachten and Miles Edgeworth."_

_ "Yeah," Miles said._

* * *

Miles frowned at the mirror and buttoned the dress shirt. The shirt was dark in color and fitted garishly to his angular frame. But Franziska insisted, and he didn't have the energy for any more arguments. He didn't know what they had planned, but he'd been out once or twice with Gumshoe before, so it couldn't be that bad.

Franziska was right, the face that stared back from the mirror did look a little haggard and weary. He frowned and the reflection frowned back. The shirt really did look ridiculous.

Miles went into his closet and found one tie and held it against his shirt. He stared at it for a moment and then tried another one, then another. Finally he opted to forgo a tie altogether. He already felt silly enough in this getup.

When he went into the sitting room, he was greeted cordially by Wellington. He didn't sit, because his slacks were black and the last thing he needed was Pess' honey gold fur all over his pants. Miles sighed and put his hands on his hips, if only he could come up with a way to back out—his phone rang.

"Edgeworth," he said accepting the call and putting the phone to his ear.

"Good evening, Edgeworth," It was Chief Prosecutor Skye, "It's me, Lana Skye."

"Go ahead," Miles said.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said, "I was looking over the transcripts from the trial—I just realized what you did. You saved us. We have a second chance at a conviction without risking Double Jeopardy—"

"Are you at the office Chief? I can come in if—"

"That's not necessary, Edgeworth," she said, "I feel like we put you in a tight spot with this one—you ought to take the night off."

"It wouldn't be a problem at all," Miles looked up and saw Franziska dressed up, her arms were crossed and she was glaring at him and tapping her foot. The dress was pale blue with no shoulders a wide belt of silver that accentuated her narrow waist and an A-line skirt that only came half-way down her thighs. Miles frowned at her.

"Edgeworth?" Miles startled, he hadn't heard Chief Skye talking.

"Sorry, Chief… I was… distracted… What was that again?" He said.

Chief chuckled a little on the other end, "Take a break, I'll see you Monday."

"Yes, Chief," Miles said and he couldn't help looking a little disappointed.

"Are you trying to weasel your way out of fun? I've never met anyone who would sneak out of a party by calling in to work," Franziska scolded.

"They called me," Miles said defensively though he seemed genuinely embarrassed at being caught trying to go to work.

"You look sexy in that shirt," Franziska said.

"You're not allowed to think guys are sexy," Miles said, wagging a finger at her, "Especially me. I'm your brother."

"We're not really related," she pointed out.

Miles eyed his little sister critically, she had definitely filled out since the last time she'd visited, and that dress she had on definitely emphasized every point of her more grown-up figure. He frowned at her, "Don't you have something a little less…" He waved a hand at her trying to find a word that wouldn't send her into a tirade. "Um… revealing?"

"I'm not a little girl, Miles," she said her eyes glinted stonily at him, "You can't tell me how to dress."

"Yeah but," Miles said, and he left it at that.

Franziska laughed, "Do you think I look sexy, Miles?"

"I think you look like you're trying too hard," he muttered. Never mind that she really was a beautiful woman suddenly. It was wrong to think that at all.

Miles opened the closet to find a jacket and Franziska was beside him immediately to lend her opinion. She was wearing perfume—actual perfume, not the alcohol based body sprays that most of the women at the office wore. It wasn't an unpleasant perfume, he had to admire her instinct with such things. The soft warm scent mingled with the smell of powder and lipstick—she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Miles!" He stepped out of the closet and frowned at her.

"What? It's my closet, Franziska, I don't need help navigating—"

"This one," she said and held out his pea coat.

"That's the one I was going to grab," Miles said mulishly.

She just stared at him, almost gloating, as she wrapped her bare shoulders in an oversized Pashmina shawl in a darker blue than her dress. Miles reached over her head to grab a scarf.

"Are you ready?" he said.

"I'll meet you down there," she said pulling out her phone, "I'm taking the elevator."

Miles hesitated; there was no way he'd lose her between his flat and the ten stories down to the basement garage…right?

"Don't take too long or I'll leave without you," Miles said huffily. It wasn't hard going down the stairs, why couldn't she just walk with him?

"You're just grumpy because you're hungry," Franziska said.

"That too," Miles said. He gave her a nod and walked out of the flat.

They spoke little in the car, though it was a significant drive to the restaurant downtown. Miles refused to look at Franziska and she refused to look up from her phone. What was happening to that little girl he'd been protecting for so long?

Miles was dismayed to find Franziska's friends already waiting outside the parking garage. There were two young ladies, one petite and dark haired—Franziska introduced her as Mei and the other tall and blonde—Dagmar. Mei and Dagmar giggled at him when he greeted them; Franziska had her hand on his arm but eagerly left him to join her friends.

"Nice to meet you, Miles!" Mei said and Dagmar nodded emphatically.

"Miles?" Miles said, "You can call me Mister Edgeworth."

Best not let these little girls get too familiar, he decided. Franziska made a face at him. He ignored her and turned and led the way toward the restaurant with his hands in his pockets.

"Frannie," one of them said behind him, "Your brother is so handsome."

"But he's so serious," the other girl said.

"He's just grumpy because he's been in court all day," Franziska said brightly.

Miles was walking in front of them, and he smiled a little—knowing that they wouldn't be able to see.

The restaurant was inside the downtown Sheraton so they had to enter through the hotel lobby. Gumshoe was waiting with two women, and looking a little less scruffy than usual. He grinned at Miles and his charges, the women looked confused.

"His little sister and her friends…" Gumshoe was explaining when Miles joined him.

"Gina, Chihiro, this is Miles Edgeworth," Gumshoe chuckled a little.

Miles tried to muster some pleasantry when he greeted them, "I hope you don't mind, my sister is visiting from overseas."

"Not at all," Gina said and Miles thought she looked familiar.

"You're a lawyer, aren't you Miles?" Chihiro said—she had a cute round face and her hair had been done up with chopsticks. Miles only nodded—he didn't need to start twenty questions in the hotel lobby.

Miles clapped his hands together, "Dick says no one here has ever been to Zaina's—so you're in for a great time. Have any of you ever had Lebanese?"

The ladies both shook their heads, Franziska and her friends were standing a ways behind them giggling at something on Franziska's phone.

"I guess we should get up there, both reservations are in my name—Edgeworth," Miles said, "It's up on the fourteenth floor."

The group made their way toward the elevators. Miles stood back until everyone else had filed into the elevator car.

"Wow, it's packed in here," he said, "I should wait for the next one."

Franziska rolled her eyes at him and then the door closed. Miles went to find the stairs.

* * *

_The International School was all the way in Berlin. It wasn't a bad place, most of the students were the children of diplomats and international businessmen who were rather well to do, but moved around far too often to allow their kids the chance for focused study needed to get them ahead in the world._

_ Miles and Mister Von Karma travelled there by train together. Again, Mister Von Karma had very little to say to the boy and Miles, who'd never been much inclined to idle chatter, saw no need to bother him with his thoughts._

_ The school itself was not terribly large, though the campus grounds incorporated several buildings in the city. Mister Von Karma brought him to the dorm where he'd be living and settled a few administrative formalities before leaving to catch the next train back to Frankfurt. The woman that helped with his check-in took pity on him, and though Miles was very shy about his German and she spoke very little English, she managed to give him a descent tour of the campus._

_ He spent the rest of the day alone in his dorm, all of his personal effects—including the new school uniforms he'd brought—fit into the allotted drawer spaces with room to spare. He had nothing of decoration for his side of the room except for his father's baseball mitt. Miles put it up on the shelf over his desk and sat on his bed and stared at it._

_ Even with several months warning—the move felt so sudden. Miles felt like a kite whose string had been cut. He wondered how long he would stay here, before he was forced to drift somewhere else._

_ His roommate had posters on the walls of footballers and musicians that Miles didn't recognize. Miles didn't know anything about football or popular music. He wasn't looking forward to sharing the room with this other person. Not just because he worried about his own lack of knowledge about football and popular music—but because it meant that someone else would sleep in that room with him. Someone else would find out that Miles had nightmares, that he sometimes woke up shouting, and that he often cried into his pillow about all the dark things that plagued his dreams—things he still didn't know how to talk about._

_ Would this other boy think he was weird? Would he make fun of Miles? What if he was big and mean?_

_ Miles lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, dreading the encounter like the condemned dreads his ultimate fate._

* * *

Miles sat across from Dick and Gina and Chihiro picked the spot next to him. Franziska and her friends sat at their own table where he could keep an eye on them, but they could have their privacy. The two women got up to use the ladies room and Miles glared at Gumshoe.

"This is a nice place, sir," he said, giddy in the atmosphere.

"Why do you always do this?" Miles said.

"What?" Gumshoe said, rubbing the top of his head in a way that Miles thought was very gorilla like.

"The thing with the dates," Miles said, "I don't need help getting a date."

"I just thought—," Gumshoe frowned, "You haven't had a girlfriend since—"

"That wasn't that long ago," Miles said.

Gumshoe just laughed at him, "So Franziska looks really pretty."

"She's seventeen," Miles said glaring again, "You're not allowed to think she's pretty."

"I just meant…" Gumshoe sulked, "I'm sorry, Mister Edgeworth."

"How long have you known Gina?" Miles asked.

"We only met a few weeks ago," Gumshoe said, "She's an EMT. She had to rescue me when I got hurt in an attack."

"What attack?" Miles said.

"At the precinct, a couple weeks ago," Gumshoe said, "I went into the evidence room to put something away and Marshall sicced Billy on me."

"Billy?"

Gumshoe frowned, "Billy's the cactus…"

Miles grinned, "What a mean cactus. I'll bet he came at you out of nowhere…"

Gumshoe rubbed his head again, "It was kind of awful. It took Gina four hours to pull out all the needles."

The women returned smiling and chattering. Chihiro sat next to Miles and smiled at him. Miles thought her smile was a little creepy.

"Miles, how long have you been a prosecutor?" she said.

"Um," Miles said, "About five—almost six years."

"Wow," Gina said, "But you're only twenty-four…"

Miles blushed slightly, "Yes…"

"He's a prodigy," Gumshoe said.

"How do you finish law school so quickly?" Chihiro asked.

"Well," Miles began.

"You must've been on an accelerated course of study. Have you studied abroad? Do you like being a lawyer? I dated a lawyer when I was in college; he was very serious. You were in court recently, weren't you? I thought I recognized you. Can you talk about the trial? Or are you sequestered? Doesn't that sound awful? Being sequestered? It sounds like something contagious…"

Miles gaped at her while she spoke, he managed to shoot a nasty glare in Gumshoe's direction, but Gumshoe and Gina were smiling at some private conversation they were sharing. Miles couldn't wait for the food to get there so she would stop talking.

"You're so quiet, Miles," Chihiro said and paused to giggle.

"Silence is golden," Miles said under his breath and picked up his water glass.

"Oh my god!" Chihiro exclaimed and she grabbed his arm with more familiarity than he was willing to accept, "is that Madeline Tailor? The heiress to the Lordly Tailor enterprise? She's so beautiful, isn't she? I can't believe we're eating in the same restaurant as Madeline Tailor!"

"She owns this restaurant," Miles said, and pulled away from her and looked up to see the woman Chihiro was jabbering about and then returned his attention to the glass. Turning it in his hand and watching the patterns of light as the liquid sloshed in it. He couldn't wait for dinner to be over.

"I wonder if I should go and ask for her autograph? Did you know she was dating the singer from Birdwing? It was only for a short time though. They probably only did it for publicity. Do you like Birdwing, Miles? Miles?"

"Huh," Miles said, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Oh he could hear her all right—but he was trying very hard not to listen.

"It's nothing," Chihiro said, "Some people say I talk too much when I get nervous. I guess I'm a little nervous—you don't look nervous. Are you nervous?"

"About what?" Miles said. He didn't even look at her. Where did Gumshoe find this woman?

"About this—um, date… I wasn't sure what to expect when Richard said—"

"I'm not nervous," Miles said curtly.

Chihiro frowned and he almost felt guilty—almost. He did manage to shut her up for a few seconds.

"So Miles," Gina said, as if she sensed the tension on the other side of the table, "You look well, I take it you've been able to avoid any unnecessary anxiety?"

Miles glared at her and suddenly remember from where he recognized her. Gumshoe looked confused and he shifted his eyebrows in a way that always reminded him of Pess when she was confused. These people were so unsophisticated.

"Um," Miles said.

"Gina have you two met before?" Gumshoe asked.

Miles had half a mind to leave and join the teenagers at their table. "I thank you for your concern," Miles said with not a little condescension, "But that subject makes for poor dinner conversation."

Gina looked like he'd just struck her. Gumshoe frowned. Chihiro's eyes widened. Miles drank the rest of his water and sat back with his arms crossed and glared at the glass.

"So," Gumshoe said and rubbed his head, "How about that local sports team?"

Miles shot him another scathing look. The waiter came and laid out the mezze, giving a rehearsed description of the course to the party and telling them to enjoy without noticing the uncomfortable silence at the table.

"Uh, Dick," Gina said, "I'm going to run to the ladies room."

"Okay," Gumshoe sounded a little worried.

Chihiro didn't wait for an invitation but jumped up to follow her. Miles frowned after them. He looked at the platters arranged on the table.

"Well, I'm not waiting," he said and started to serve himself.

"I think you upset them," Gumshoe said, his voice heavy with disappointment, "They're probably going to cry their eyes out in there. Why do you have to be so rude Edgeworth?"

Miles paused and glanced at the very morose detective before setting the dish of baba ghanoush back on the table. Then he shook his head and smirked.

"Rude people attract rudeness," he said.

"They're both really nice girls," Gumshoe said and the big man glared back at Miles, "I don't care if you don't want to date any of them—you can at least be nice to them."

Miles frowned, Gumshoe rarely stood up to him like that. He stared at his plate for a moment and then he looked at Gumshoe. Gumshoe had put a single stuffed grape leaf on his plate and was distracted in poking it with his knife.

"Dick," Miles said and waited for Gumshoe to stop playing with his food, "I've had a very long and disappointing day. But that is no reason to be rude to your friends. I'm sorry."

The affection that shone in Gumshoe's eyes after his apology was almost frightening and Miles regretted it immediately. He took a piece of lavash and started tearing it to avoid Gumshoe's soppy expression.

"I met Chihiro while I was investigating this case," Gumshoe said, "She's a psychoanalyst. She has to spend all day listening to people complain about their problems—some of them are very trivial—I guess she tries not to listen so much when she's off duty."

Miles frowned, now he actually felt some remorse.

The two of them looked up when the women returned. Miles was dismayed to notice the tell-tale smudges in their eye-liner and the redness around their nostrils. Neither of them spoke to him when they sat, but they greeted Gumshoe enthusiastically. Something had happened while they were in the restroom, there was the uncomfortable air of some private victory between them. Miles looked up when Chihiro very loudly greeted the woman approaching their table.

"Miss Tailor, so kind of you to visit our table," she said. Miles gnashed his teeth and feigned disinterest in their visitor.

"Who is Miles Edgeworth?" Madeline Tailor said in a commanding tone—like she owned the place. Well, she did own this place—but that was besides the point.

"You know who I am," Miles said without looking at her.

"I need to talk to you Miles Edgeworth," she said and both Gina and Chihiro glared at him victoriously, "Come with me."

Miles frowned and stood to follow the woman. As she led him toward the back of the restaurant, they passed by Franziska's table, his little sister was watching him curiously. Miles nodded at her.

Madeline Tailor was an imposing woman. Heiress to the Lordly Tailor fortune, world-renowned Philanthropist, and glittering socialite. She wasn't very tall and she was slender as a sapling and graceful in the way she floated through any environment she faced. She had raven hair that revealed warm highlights in the sun and thick dark lashes around azure eyes that recalled tropical waters and alpine skies. She was power and grace; beauty and dread; ecstasy and pain—wrapped in the latest designer fashion.

That's probably why he fell so hard for her, Miles thought as he followed her—caught in the sway of her hips, the confident set of her shoulders, and the angles made by her shoulder blades in the open backed dress.

She motioned for him to go first through the manager's door hidden by lavish oriental draperies at the back of the restaurant. Her office was through another door off of the open bayed room. The office was chic, modern, and barely used. Maddy Tailor didn't like to spend too much time in one place. She motioned for him to sit and he did crossing his arms impatiently.

"I didn't expect you to come here," she said. Her eyes were hidden behind large oversized designer sunglasses that she never took off in public—not even to testify in court. That always annoyed him.

"I didn't think you were expecting me anywhere," Miles said coldly.

"I wanted to apologize to you—in person," she said, "and I wanted to return this."

Miles frowned at the small square velvet covered box. He took it and shoved it into his pocket without checking inside.

"You could've just mailed it," Miles said obstinate in his resentment toward her.

"It's a new year Miles," she said and tugged her glasses away from her face, "You should just let it go, and move on."

"New Year? Why does everyone keep saying—! It hasn't even been a month yet, Maddy. Not everyone is as fickle as you are."

"You think I'm fickle, Miles?"

"You broke off our engagement on Christmas. Over the phone. Then you went off on your little escapade with that monkey puppet… Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

"You were arrested for murder! I can't have anything to do a murderer," her stony façade was starting to crack. Miles suddenly wanted to see her cry.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way," she said and her gaze fell to the floor.

He leaned forward in his seat and shrugged, "It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway," then he stood to leave, "It was fun while it lasted, Maddy."

"You will not walk out of here like that Miles Edgeworth," Maddy said.

"You walked out on me," he said.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_I actually stole the double date with Gumshoe idea from a fan manga I read somewhere, I remember thinking at first that it was weird that Miles would hang out with Gumshoe like that—but the more I thought about it, it made way more sense than him hanging out with Larry or Phoenix like that—especially at this point in the story._

_In a way Gumshoe is like Edgeworth's meathead little brother (even though he's older)…_

_Maddy Tailor isn't going to be a big part of this—I just wanted another layer to the complicated pudding called Miles Edgeworth…_

_Remember the really f-d up way Edgeworth got Adrian Andrews to testify in AA:JFA? I bet he does that crap all the time…_

_UPDATED 22SEP2012_


	16. In Flagrante Delicto

**Chapter 16**

_**In Flagrante Delicto**_

_Miles had chosen a seat at the back corner of the class, where he could hide behind the school laptop attached to the desk and glare out at the other students. Most of them were a couple years older than he was—he'd managed to take on an accelerated course of study after his first semester in school and Mister Von Karma seemed pleased to hear that Miles was pulling ahead of the other students. Miles wanted so much to please Mister Von Karma._

_ There was one other girl in the class that managed to move into the accelerated program—she was a year older than him, but they seemed to end up in a lot of the same classes. Most of the others were two, three, and even—in two cases—four years older than Miles. All of them in that critical stage of adolescence where a year made a huge age gap—and no one felt that distance like Miles._

_ He still had a round boyish face, and though he'd grown a lot in the last three years, he would never be mistaken for a boy of sixteen or seventeen. Besides his relatively mean stature, Miles still struggled with his night terrors. He never slept well and he ate poorly—so not only was he the youngest boy in the class, he was particularly small and thin for his age._

_ The first year he'd been in school—one of his teachers referred him to the school's therapist. Mister Von Karma didn't like that—and Miles was reluctant to seek help the rest of that year and openly hostile about it now._

_ So he sat in the back of the class—unobtrusive and unremarkable—and managed to do well in his studies. At least no one would rap him across his knuckles if he did doze off now and then—he had good grades, and that was good enough._

_ His roommate was two years older than he was—and a grade behind him now. They managed to live in peace—even if they could hardly be called friends. Carlo was Italian, and he didn't care enough about German to try and improve it. Miles—who had learned German as his second language—had a lot of trouble understanding German with an Italian accent._

_They talked very little._

_ Otherwise, Miles was like any student at the school. Like any other student he was a little apprehensive when he started a new class—and a little eager to prove himself. The first day of class was always the worst and the best. Worst because that meant the whole of the semester was still laid out before them and it meant meeting new students and not knowing what to expect. Best because the slate was clean, and the potential still endless._

_ It was still early when Miles arrived to claim his seat—and by the time most of the other students were arriving, he was very engrossed in the book he'd brought for his own light reading—a heavy tome discussing precedents in International Law cases, that Mister Von Karma had given him before Miles returned from the winter holiday. Mister Von Karma had jokingly called it his birthday present—as no mind had been paid when Miles' actual birthday happened; not that it mattered to him anymore. The only people who might've wanted to celebrate the birth of Miles Edgeworth had been dead and buried for years._

_ So Miles didn't look up when another person sat at his table and he didn't lift his head when that person tapped him on the shoulder. Miles did, however, notice when the IRC chat on the school's intranet popped a message on his screen. Miles put a finger in his book to keep his place and leaned forward to re-read the message. He frowned; it was very rude._

Guten Morgen Arschloch. Was machst du hier? Haben Sie verloren? Hat Ihre Mutter weiß, Sie haben den Kindergarten verlassen?

_ Miles stared at the screen longer than necessary before leaning discreetly away from the computer screen to gaze around at the other students in his class. Many of them seemed to recognize each other from previous classes or wherever. The class was broken up into several small groups engaged in conversation. Miles turned to look at the boy next to him. He was older than Miles by at least two years and thoroughly engrossed in the antics of some man sharing his opinion on YouTube. Miles scanned the room one more time before leaning back in his chair and returning to the Case of the S.S. Lotus._

_ IRC popped up again._

Sie sind blödsinnig?

_Miles frowned. The boy beside him started to chuckle._

_ "It isn't funny," Miles said to him, "Go bother somebody else."_

_ The other boy frowned back, "I was only having a little fun."_

_ Miles ignored him and went back to his book._

_ "What are you reading?"_

_ Miles focused on the book in front of him and pretended he didn't hear the other boy._

_ "What are you reading?" the boy paused and then repeated the sentence, and then he repeated it again—and again._

_ Miles read the same sentence for the fourth time, before rounding on his tormentor._

_ "Leave me alone," he said, "I don't want to talk to you."_

_ "What's your name?"_

_ Miles ignored him._

_ "Are you English?"_

_ Miles ignored him._

_ "My name is Herschel, what's yours?"_

_ Silence._

_ "How old are you? You look so young."_

_ "I'm fifteen," Herschel said, "How long have you been at this school? I just started here myself. Is it a good school? I hope so, too. My stupid dad made me come here, because I kept getting into trouble at the government school. No, I don't miss being there with him. What's that? You are too kind, but you shouldn't be concerned, I—"_

_ "Are you really having a conversation with yourself?" Miles said, annoyed._

_ Herschel grinned at him and held out his hand. Miles only looked at it and curled his lip._

_ "You're very stuck up for a little boy," Herschel said._

_ Miles turned away from him._

_ "No wonder this seat was open."_

_ Miles grimaced; this was going to be a very long semester._

* * *

Chihiro dragged him out of the dance club and shoved him into a nook in the building's façade—out of the way of the crowds milling along the street. Gumshoe showed up a few minutes later looking remorseful while Miles was still leaning against the wall—dizzy and head reeling. Chihiro handed him his coat and Miles could only hold on to it feebly while he waited for the vertigo to pass.

"Edgeworth, what happened?" Gumshoe said.

"Nothing!" Miles said, more forcefully than he'd intended, "That place…"

"Do you want me to get the girls out of there? Gina's still with them," Gumshoe said.

Miles frowned and looked up at Gumshoe, "I won't hear the end of it if I drag her out of there now."

"We can stick around," Gumshoe said.

"You don't mind playing chaperone for a couple of hours?" Miles asked.

"Not a problem, pal," Gumshoe said, "Gina wants to dance too."

"Thanks," Miles frowned, "I owe you."

"What are you going to do? Are you going home?" Gumshoe said.

Miles shook his head, what was he going to do? He didn't want to go all the way back to the flat with Franziska out here by herself. "I'll wait nearby. I could do with a walk."

"You sure?" Gumshoe said. Miles only nodded—as long as Franziska was having fun, it didn't matter to him.

Chihiro didn't follow Gumshoe back into the club. Miles didn't notice her at first, but it annoyed him that she still seemed to think she'd get something out of this. She hadn't said a word when he rejoined them at the dinner table after his spat with Maddy—which was good—but she'd been glowering at him all night since then. He didn't feel like being lectured by a stranger.

But Chihiro didn't lecture and she stood apart from him, staring at him and then gazing up and down the street, then up at the sky—then back at him.

"What do you want?" Miles said finally, and he stood to put on his coat. He was starting to shiver.

"I don't want anything," she said, "I wasn't a fan of that place though, and Gina was my ride."

Miles was a little surprised that she'd ended there—he'd expected her to begin another flood of questions and babbling. Miles gave her an odd look.

"Do you know this part of the city?" he said.

She turned and pointed across the street, "That's where I work."

"Do you want to walk?" His tone wasn't very inviting but something in him wouldn't let him leave without inviting her. She didn't answer him right away, and he turned to glare at her. She stared back, brow furrowed—he couldn't tell if she was angry or contemplative. Miles tugged at his coat and looked both ways before stepping into the street to cross.

"I'm not going to beg, if that's what you're used to," he muttered and shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them.

He crossed and turned at the first intersection he found that took him away from the lights and the crowds begging to partake of the city's nightlife. Franziska might be a fan of the discothèque, but he never was. He stopped at the next intersection and stared down the nearly empty streets—he wasn't so familiar with this part of town.

"Miles," he turned to see Chihiro hurrying to catch him up. He frowned and ran a hand over his face.

"Where are you going?" she said, and she looked up at him, lit by the yellowish light of the street lamp. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold.

"I don't know," he said curtly, "I was just going to go on for a while and then backtrack."

"You'll get mugged," Chihiro said, "There's a place nearby—we can get coffee."

Miles blinked at her, coffee was a good idea. It was the company he wasn't sure of.

"It's too cold for this, anyway," Miles said and blew on his hands, he yawned before he could put them back in his pockets and glanced sidelong at her, "Show us the way."

"Okay," Chihiro said, and she started walking a little ways ahead of him.

It was chintzy place, made up to look like one of those retro diners. It even had a life-size Elvis statue in the doorway, his mouth open in a grin against the old fashioned microphone he was supposed to be singing into. Miles paused to stare at it; it was a fascinating icon—marred here and there with crayon graffiti and the paint cracked and chipping in some places. Chihiro was already settling in a booth at the back of the restaurant when he left poor derelict Elvis alone and entered. He took off his coat and laid it in the seat opposite of her and then sat down beside it.

The waitress was already standing over them before he could take off his scarf. Chihiro ordered coffee and accepted a menu from the woman and Miles made a gesture that he was fine with just coffee.

When they were alone he looked up to speak to Chihiro, only to be met by the garishly designed menu she was holding over her face—she couldn't possibly be hungry? Suddenly the thought of Maya Fey popped into his mind—he almost chuckled.

"How long are they planning to stay there?" She asked.

Miles looked at his watch, "It's after nine now, I was planning to head back around eleven—I'd like to get home before midnight."

Chihiro laid the menu flat on the table and looked at him.

"Is it a special occasion? You dote on her, your little sister—it's kind of cute. Do you usually take her out like this?"

Miles grimaced at her, "You should pause between sentences… I can't tell if you're asking a question or not."

Chihiro frowned and picked up the menu again and made a little huffy noise behind it. Miles crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat to glare at the back of the menu.

"I've had a very long day," he said quietly.

"You're not the only one, I'm sure," Chihiro said without looking up from the menu.

His eyes narrowed and he eyed her scrupulously—what he could see of her—which was mostly her hairline. Gumshoe had said she was a psychoanalyst. It must be tiresome listening to others complain all day.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to imply that your day was any less—tedious."

"I love what I do, Miles," she said, "But I do listen to so many other people's problems…"

She set the menu down again and scowled at him. He answered with a smirk and then the waitress returned with a pot of coffee and two mugs. She poured coffee for them. Then she set down the pot and took Chihiro's order. The waitress paused before leaving and looked at Miles who was hunched over his coffee with his elbow on the table and cradling his head in his hand.

"You all right hon?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"You don't want anything?"

"No thank you," he said in a way that made the waitress raise an eyebrow and turn away from them muttering. Chihiro was glaring at him as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

"You're not a very pleasant person," she said. Miles lifted his head to look at her.

"Is that your final opinion, doctor?"

"Don't condescend," she said, "What I do is real and viable. Don't expect me to analyze you just because you're bored. But if you want to set up an appointment, I'm sure I can help you out."

Miles snorted and sat up, "There's nothing wrong with me. But there is something wrong with taking advantage of people's weaknesses."

"Ha! This, from a lawyer!" she grinned at him and sipped her coffee with no subtle air of ascendance.

Miles answered her challenge with his own grin, "Do you have a problem with lawyers?"

"No, not in general," she said tossing her head, "Just you and my ex-boyfriend."

"So why come out, then?" He said, "I'm sure Dick mentioned I was a lawyer."

"He mentioned a lot of things that make me wonder if he brought the right person along," she said.

"How do you know Detective Gumshoe?" Miles asked.

"He's been coming to consult for the last couple weeks, nice guy."

"Gumshoe is seeing a Psychologist?"

"Please," Chihiro said, "I couldn't tell you if he was or not—we have rules. But he came by our clinic to see one of my colleagues for a forensic consult."

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"I guess the Prosecutor on that case found some big time Criminal Psychologist instead—but I still got saddled with CST and MSO for that jerk, Sheinheilig."

"Ah," Miles said.

Chihiro eyed him curiously and the light bulb went on with a click he could almost hear. "You're the Prosecutor, aren't you?"

"Eureka," Miles said sardonically.

Chihiro laughed, "Funny, when ever he talked about you, he made you up to be some perfect guy. But once in a while he complained about "The Prosecutor". I thought he was talking about two different people."

Miles looked a little surprised at the revelation. He didn't realize he was smiling until he met Chihiro's eye and she smiled back. The waitress saved him by delivering a large order of chili cheese fries and asking Chihiro if there was anything else she needed. Miles leaned back in his seat and refilled his coffee. The waitress left without acknowledging him.

Chihiro unwrapped her fork and spread the napkin on her lap. Miles eyed the mound of thick cut fries slathered in chili and cheese and wondered how the little woman could be hungry after they'd just had dinner. She speared a fry from the mound and it trailed little strings of cheddar as she brought it to her mouth. She caught him staring.

"Want some?"

"No," Miles said only just realizing that he had been staring and turning his gaze to his coffee mug.

"You know you do," Chihiro said and paused for another bite, "You barely ate any dinner. I guess Madeline Tailor really laid into you."

Miles looked confused, how did she know about him and Maddy? "What?"

"Gina and I saw her in the bathroom," she said, "and I—I was upset because I got asked to go on this blind date and the guy I got paired with turned out to be a raging jerk—," Chihiro paused and eyed him meaningfully for a moment before continuing, "-and she asked me who it was. She said she'd talk some sense into him."

Miles grinned, "She did. I'm a changed man."

"Ha," Chihiro said, "You, Miles Edgeworth, are a piece of work."

He shrugged at her and took another draught from his coffee mug.

"I thought you said you weren't going to psychoanalyze me?"

Chihiro made a dismissive noise and chewed her fry. It was maddening, she ate them one at a time and she chose each one selectively like she was playing some weird version of edible Jenga. He checked his watch and finished his coffee. Miles sighed and undid the silverware wrapped in a paper napkin on his side of the table. He spread the napkin on his lap and smirked at her.

"You'll get fat if you eat all these fries," he said.

"Jerk," she replied, searching for her next victim.

Miles speared a few fries, "And it's almost ten thirty, we should go soon."

Together they made short work of the fries—Miles was ravenous, he hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he tucked into the pile of fries. Chihiro laughed at him.

"Now you'll get fat," she said.

"Good," Miles said and stood to put on his coat. Chihiro was buttoning her own coat so he took the ticket off of the table and started toward the door. He paid—leaving the waitress an incongruously large tip. He tapped Elvis on the shoulder on his way out and offered Chihiro his elbow—he didn't want to take his hands out of his pockets.

She had little knit gloves—pink with blue and yellow stripes—that didn't match anything she was wearing. He hadn't noticed them earlier. She took his arm and they started back toward the dance club.

"You really should come by the clinic," she said, "We've had a lot of success with anxiety disorders."

Miles grimaced, "I don't know which is more subjective, you Psychologists or Psychics."

"Jerk," Chihiro said, "Oh, and it's Psychiatrist, I'm actually a doctor."

"Well, Doctor," Miles said, "I don't need to sit around and talk about my childhood to learn how to deal with my problems—I get by just fine."

"Whatever you say," Chihiro said, "You can call if you need to…"

They walked quietly through the now deserted street toward the noise of the nightclub strip.

"Can I call you?" Chihiro said when they reached the second intersection, "In case I have any legal trouble?"

Miles hesitated—startled at how forward she was. Then he smirked.

"I'm not that kind of lawyer," he said.

* * *

_Miles clambered out of the taxi and walked silently up the steps of the large mansion. He was wearing black—like a barrister—and he hadn't bothered to change before catching the train. The house seemed quiet, but then, the Von Karma's probably weren't expecting him back until the next day. No one said anything to him as he entered._

_ He made it all the way to the room Mister Von Karma had set aside for him in the mansion. He looked around the room out of habit; there was nothing personal in the room to mark it as his—unless you paid close attention to the books. Volume upon volume of law treatise and theory. Miles had decided on this early on—not without a little encouragement from Von Karma—but nothing else seemed to fit._

_ Miles never got over his father's murder—and all the years since then only seemed to intensify his need for justice. He needed the truth. He never shared that part of his decision with Von Karma. Aside from their discussions on law, Miles had very little to say to the man._

_ Miles noticed a small flat parcel tucked slightly under his pillow and moved to investigate it. A plain yellow mailing envelope with no address written on it—but it had been sealed. Miles frowned at it and then tore open one end. He looked inside the envelope at the oddly shaped thing inside. There seemed to be paper lace of some sort and other bits sticking off of it. He hesitated a little more before shaking the thing out into his hand._

_ His visage softened, and he smiled. It was a handmade card. It didn't seem to belong to any one occasion—partly because it had been decorated with birthday cakes, Christmas trees, hearts and angels. He studied the little embellishments with single-minded interest. They were the type of embellishments used for decoupage or scrapbooking—she must have made this at her sister's house._

_ He opened the card, the message almost made him blush—she was eleven now, after all—she was probably starting to think boys were interesting. Miles read the message again, smiling this time._

Dear Little Brother,

Happy Everything! I miss you so much! I am glad to hear that you're coming home. Papa says he will let me begin my studies in Law too—I think we can be together more often. I want you to meet my friends from my school. They don't believe me when I tell them my Little Brother is so handsome. My school will be having a dance for the end of school—I should like you to be my date—so everyone can see you! You will also take me riding when you are free and you will escort me to the spring festival next month. I hope you have brought me something nice from that place.

Love and hugs and kisses,

Franziska

_Miles put the card back in its envelope and put it in his briefcase. Then Miles stooped to rummage through his meager luggage and pulled out a paper wrapped parcel. He put it under his arm and went to find his little sister._

_She was in the study sulking over her composition book and as he snuck up behind her, he was tickled when he noticed that there was very little writing and many little doodles of her new horse. Miles bent over her shoulder and blew in her ear. Franziska lifted her hand to swat whatever was disturbing her away and she smacked his nose instead._

_She squealed and jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around his waist._

"_Miles! You're home!" She was strong for a little girl and she squeezed him so tightly, he ached. She rested her chin on his belly and looked up at him._

"_Miles, did you get me a present?"_

_Miles feigned disapproval with a small frown and an affected sigh, "And here I thought you were actually happy to see me…"_

"_Oh but I am Little Brother," she said earnestly, "I really am!"_

_Miles held out the box for her and she took it eagerly tearing at the paper with an unrestrained violence that almost made him laugh out loud. Miles bent, hands on his knees so that they were nearly eye-to-eye. Franziska was cradling the box with the little girl doll inside. She was a rosy-cheeked beauty, dressed in an outfit that matched Franziska's riding habit, complete with a miniature crop in hand. Franziska cooed over her._

"_Well?" Miles said, "I hope you like her. She was a special order—one of a kind—just like you."_

_Franziska looked at him, eyes glittering. She kissed him on both cheeks—as her way of thanks. Miles felt very pleased—and that made him happy—which wasn't something he felt very much._

"_Another doll, Edgeworth?" Miles straightened up like a soldier coming to attention. Franziska put the box behind her back and Mister Von Karma sauntered into the room with forbidding deliberateness._

"_Good Afternoon, Mister Von Karma," Miles said, his eyes were focused straight ahead in a thousand yard stare—it was easier than daring to meet Von Karma's icy glare._

"_Welcome back, boy," Von Karma said._

"_Franziska," he continued, turning toward his daughter, "Don't bother trying to hide it—I already saw it."_

_Franziska brought the doll around in front of her cradling the box protectively in her arms. Miles could feel a rise in his ire as Mister Von Karma walked up to her and then took the box out of her hands. He held it up to make a show of studying it. He glanced at Miles and then to the composition book still open on the desk. He bared his teeth in a grimace and brought the doll facedown on the corner of the desk, smashing the rosy-cheeked visage._

_He let the box drop to the floor and Franziska stared for a moment before running out of the room. Miles swallowed, he was angry, but he didn't know what to do. Von Karma met his eye and smirked._

"_She's getting lazy with her work," he said, "We shouldn't reward her for that."_

"_She's eleven!" Miles protested, "You didn't have to—"_

_Von Karma rounded on him and stuck his forefinger at the crook where his jaw met his neck and pressed hard just inside his jawbone. Miles winced in shock and pain._

"_Do you presume to tell me how things should be, boy?" Mister Von Karma said._

"_No sir," Miles said._

"_You had better not forget your place Miles Edgeworth."_

* * *

"Are you serious!" Miles shouted into his phone, "What about the other two?"

Chihiro also had her phone to her ear but she was staring fearfully at Miles as he fumed over the phone.

"Where?" Miles said on the phone, "And you didn't think to call me? No—just… I'm in front of that lounge place where we left you—yes 404… How do I get there from here? I'm on my way. Who? She's still with me, yes."

Miles hung up his phone and made an exasperated gesture with his arms.

"Okay, thanks," Chihiro said and hung up her phone too and grabbed Miles' sleeve, "Come on, I know how to get there."

She held his hand—out of necessity—as they pushed through the crowds milling in the streets as the clubs really began to swing and the older partiers were showing up.

They turned down a narrow side street and then a parallel street with more clubs and bars. There was a police car parked up on the curb with its lights flashing. Miles let go of her hand and started to run, shoving people out of his way as he went.

He ran up to the patrol cop standing guard by the car and reporting through the car's radio. Miles grabbed the open patrol car's door and startled the cop.

"Where?" Miles said.

"Sir," the cop said putting a hand on his sidearm, "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

"Where's Detective Gumshoe?" Miles said.

"Sir—um," the cop paused to answer an inquiry from the transceiver. Miles watched him for a moment before turning into the building, "Sir! You can't—"

Miles made it into the empty dance club's main room before another policeman stopped him.

"You can't be in here," the policeman said, and he actually pointed his gun at Miles. Miles glowered at him, but he stopped walking and put up his hands.

"I have to… My little sister…" Miles stammered at the policeman.

"If you're going to go back there, I need to see some credentials," the policeman said.

"Is Detective Gumshoe—" Miles started.

"You're Edgeworth?" the policeman asked, "Do you have ID?"

Miles made an impatient face and slowly put his hands down, "I'm getting my wallet, it's in the back pocket of my pants."

"Hold on," the policeman kept his gun pointed but pulled out a two-way radio and muttered an inquiry.

A moment later, Gumshoe appeared, he had a stub of pencil behind his ear and his battered notepad in his hand—it was strange not seeing his dirty old trench coat. He smiled at Miles and nodded to the policeman to stand down.

"What happened!" Miles said as Gumshoe led him to another room further back in the club.

The room was smaller and much less lavishly decorated. There was an unfinished look to the room, with its dance floor of bare cement and the bare beams of the walls showing behind industrial plastic sheeting. Cables from the lighting hung visible and bare, twisting through the lagging like snakes through the treetops. There were several policemen in the room guarding entrances and escapes, and several young men and women were lined up along the back wall. A massive set of speakers had been rolled to the side of the room, and a pair of women wearing CSI windbreakers were crouched next to a small black machine.

Miles' gaze fell on the slender legs and the hem of a short dress peeking out from under a white sheet. After a moment of panic he realized Franziska had been wearing blue, this girl was wearing silver. He looked away from the body and swept the line of club goers lined up for questioning, he recognized Franziska's friend Mei—the girl's makeup was smeared and her eyes were red from crying. She was looking at another white sheet, further from where Miles was standing. Franziska was not in the group being questioned.

Miles turned and started walking toward the other body, but stopped when he realized it was a man. Gumshoe was talking with one of the police officers. Miles gnashed his teeth, it wasn't his first crime scene, but Franziska was involved in this—and not in a good way.

He couldn't just stand there, so he walked up to the line of frightened witnesses, and approached Mei.

"Where's Franziska?" He said glaring hard at her.

The girl shuddered and threw herself against him, hugging him, "Mister Edgeworth! I want to go home!"

Miles took her by the shoulder and held her back at arms' length, "Where is Franziska?"

"Sh-she's fine!" Mei said, "I saw her, earlier, the police—"

"Are you hurt?" Miles said and Mei shook her head.

"Why are the police holding you? Did you actually witness what went on here?"

Mei hesitated and then nodded, Miles frowned, "Franziska and the other—"

"We came together," Mei said, "We had to sneak away from Gina and that old guy."

"I see," Miles said, "and about what time did that happen?"

"I don't know," Mei said, "About ten—just after ten… We weren't here very long before this happened."

"Why did you leave?" Miles said, "I agreed to take you out and you disobeyed my request that you stay at—"

"Frannie didn't want to come," Mei said, "But Dagmar met that guy—the one th-that…"

She started to cry again and tried to lean against him but Miles brought her back to her spot in the line and told her to wait for the police. He looked around for Detective Gumshoe and found him talking to one of the CSI women.

"Gumshoe," Miles said, "What are you doing?"

The woman gave him a dirty look for interrupting, "I'm investigating—I'm trying to find out what happened… Thanks, pal."

Gumshoe nodded to the investigator and walked away with Miles.

"For one," Miles said with a simmering anger, "This case is out of our jurisdiction; and second, why the hell are we even here? How could you let this happen?!"

Gumshoe shuddered a little and looked at the floor rather than meet his eye, "Sir… Mister Edgeworth, I'm sorry. I did try my best—but those girls are trouble. Gina and I left as soon as I noticed they were gone."

"What time was that?"

"Ten, I guess," Gumshoe said.

"You guess?" Miles' voice was getting lower and softer, his teeth were clenched, "What time was it?"

"Ten twelve, sir!"

"You're sure?"

"I checked my watch before we left the 404 Lounge. We got here at ten thirty three sir—Gina and me—because we were checking other places on the way. Gina was inside when the altercation occurred at about ten forty, and I was at the bar next door—looking for Franziska."

"She's seventeen, she wouldn't have been able to get into the bars—at least not the bars around here," Miles said, "Then what?"

"Gina called me at ten fifty," Gumshoe scratched his head and his gaze shifted toward the ceiling, "She said she found the girls—but something was happening in the side room of this place. She said there was screaming at first and then gunshots. The perp emptied a whole clip into this dancehall."

Miles' jaw fell and he must have looked utterly horrified because Gumshoe put a hand on his shoulder, "Edgeworth, she wasn't hit. But there was something they put in the fog machine—some kind of gas or powder that made a bunch of people sick. They've already taken the victims to the hospital, and another ambulance—"

"Franziska's in the hospital?" Miles said.

Gumshoe put up his hands, "She's safe. Don't worry—"

Miles was already headed outside; he had no business here.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_EUREKA!_

_A very slight nod to the "Investigations" series…_

_Edgeworth is being his mean old self. (He is kind of a DB… That's why Phoenix has 5 games and a crossover and he only has 2… ah well, we still love him)_

_Chihiro Young is also just a minor OC—created to further explore Edgeworth_

_From here on out there won't be any particular order to the flashbacks. In the first one here, Miles is about 13—so he's been in boarding school for a couple of years. In the second he's about 16 and is actually in law school—so Franziska is about 11._

_That soft spot under the chin where the mandible attached to the neck and there's a little hollow—whatever it's called, it hurts like heck if you get it just right… _


	17. Midnight Vigil

**Chapter 17**

**Midnight Vigil**

_"I don't want to talk about it," Miles said. Herschel paused and glared at him._

_ "Why? What's the big deal?"_

_ Miles was startled at his reaction—usually if he said he didn't want to talk about something, the party asking would stop asking. Miles frowned at Herschel._

_ "It drums up a lot of bad feelings," Miles said._

_ Herschel shrugged, "Maybe you need to drum up those feelings—so you stop feeling them."_

_ Miles ignored him and focused instead on tying his cleats and strapping on his shin guards. It was Herschel who started him playing impromptu football games with some of the other boys in the dorms. Miles didn't know anything about football, but he was curious—especially since Carlo was such a fan._

_ He slept better on those nights that he stayed to play with the other boys. The first time he actually played on the main team, they won—not necessarily because of him—but Miles found he liked that feeling. Winning was something. It was tangible and euphoric. Miles wanted to keep that going—it made all of the other bad feelings crowd into a corner of his mind._

_ Miles tried out for the school's football team in the late spring of that year—he didn't make the cut—but he made it this year. The first time he tried out he'd brought it up with Mister Von Karma and Mister Von Karma made it clear that he thought it was a waste of time. Well, Mister Von Karma wasn't here, and what Mister Von Karma didn't know wouldn't bother him._

_ Herschel, on the other hand didn't make the team last year either, nor did he try out this year. Still Herschel seemed particularly stuck to Miles, and followed him to nearly every practice and watched nearly every game. Miles supposed one would consider them friends—he didn't spend nearly so much time with anyone else._

_ If one would consider them friends; then one might consider it odd how little they actually shared. Neither boy was very forth coming with personal information. But they were together most of the time—breaks between classes, meals, study hall—you name it. Miles and Herschel had a few classes together this semester—not as many as they had the first semester together—but Herschel always seemed to run into Miles. Miles didn't mind him, because Herschel could be as laconic as he was._

_ So Miles couldn't figure out Herschel's sudden morbid curiosity about his father's death. He didn't know how the subject had come up, but now it seemed that it wouldn't be dropped. Miles stood and started toward the pitch, Herschel didn't move from where he was sitting. Miles paused and looked at the older boy._

_ "What's gotten into you anyway?" Miles said._

_ "It just reminded me of something," Herschel said._

_ "I have warm-ups," Miles said, "So I can't talk."_

_ "Edgeworth," Herschel said, "I lost someone who was important to me too."_

_ Miles glowered at him, "I said I don't have time."_

_ Herschel rubbed the top of his head, mussing his own hair, "When I was eleven my little brother died. It was an accident, but still—"_

_ "I'm going now," Miles said and walked out. He didn't have time for that sort of thing._

* * *

Miles walked alone down the stairwell; he had his coat under his arm. He rubbed his face with his free hand and checked his watch. Seven minutes to midnight. He passed an enormous red number four that glared out from the sickly green of the wall in the background. He kept going until he got to the large number two and then exited into the main corridor.

He stuck his free hand in his pocket and walked head down toward the reception area. It was crowded with family and friends of the other victims—and there were many of them. Between the shooting and then the unknown substance released on the unsuspecting partiers, there were a lot of victims.

"Mister Edgeworth," Miles looked up to see Gumshoe walking toward him carrying a small Styrofoam cup, "Coffee."

Miles accepted the cup and stared at it in his hand with a frown.

"Gina and Chihiro left," Gumshoe said, "They took that Mei girl home too."

"Good," Miles said, "It's late."

Gumshoe looked at him like he wanted to speak—but wasn't sure if he should. The detective rubbed his head instead.

"She's fine," Miles said, still staring at the cup in his hand, "She wasn't hit, but she may have been exposed to a significant dose of whatever that was—fortunately, it's not believed to be poisonous… If she remains stable, they may discharge her tonight—because of the sheer number of other victims…"

Miles trailed off and stared blankly and the cup in his hands before downing it in one draught. Gumshoe sat in one of the chairs and covered his face with both hands.

"The Karlssen girl is very injured," Miles said.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen frowning hard at it in his hand—he didn't want to be the one to do this—and then he dialed.

"Hello, Mister Karlssen? This is Miles Edgeworth," Miles said, "No, sir. There was an accident and Dagmar was injured—she's fine—I'm at the hospital now. I'm very sorry, sir. No, it happened in a nightclub. I really can't say, sir. Yes, sir. Goodbye."

Miles looked around at the other people standing in the waiting room—a great majority of them were glued to the television—where news of the attack on a downtown hotspot was probably already making national headlines. He stared down at the empty coffee cup in his hand.

"Dick," Miles said, "There's no point in both of us losing sleep over this, you should go home."

"Sir, I don't want you to wait here alone," Gumshoe protested.

Miles smirked at him, "Go get some rest—this isn't going to be resolved tonight, we might as well rest while we can."

"What about you?"

"I have to meet Mister Karlssen, but when they release Franziska I'm going home."

"Take care, pal—Mister Edgeworth, Gumshoe said, but he didn't move. Miles looked away from him and stared up at the TV with the others. He could still feel Gumshoe's presence near him as the man hesitated another moment before turning to leave.

When Miles turned to look at him, Gumshoe was already headed through the door. He sighed and looked around at the others in the crowded hospital, joined in the same anxious vigil. An older woman met his stare and frowned at him, "People are sick, you know?"

Miles only nodded at her—people were sick.

* * *

_Miles held her hand tightly as they pushed through the crowded train station. Franziska had been here many times before, but he'd never been. In fact, Miles was a little upset that Mister Von Karma had sent them on the train alone. Miles might've been fine if it were just he alone, but now he felt responsible for Franziska too. She tugged at him arm and pulled him out of his reverie._

_ "Los Miles! Las uns gehen!"_

_ Miles swallowed and let the seven-year-old take the lead for a little while, as he stared up at the signs in German and frowned. His nerves made the letters incomprehensible._

_ Adelheid was waiting for them near the station exit, with a bright smile and hugs for them both. Adelheid was quickly becoming Miles' favorite German._

_ After a few minutes to share greetings and ask how they were, she led them toward the parking area to the small sedan she drove. Franziska sat up front with her and Miles sat in the back seat with a box of paints and brushes and other art supplies he didn't recognize._

_ She lived in a small flat that her father paid for—mostly to keep her and her corrupting ideas away from the mansion. These little visits were only done out of necessity._

_ Adelheid let them wear regular clothes when they stayed over—although Franziska seemed to take this as a bad thing and usually had to be forced. It made for one less thing that Miles had to worry about._

_ "How long did Papa say he'd be gone?" Adelheid asked._

_ "For a month," Franziska said kicking her heels for emphasis._

_ "Wow," Adelheid said, "Where's he off to?"_

_ "He's got something to do in Borginia," Miles said, "But then he's going to California afterward."_

_ "Ah," Adelheid said, "Miles why are you frowning? I'm sorry you're stuck with me for the month."_

_ "No, I like staying—," Miles said, with wide-eyed concern, "Adelheid, I like staying with you."_

_ "Please, Miles—just Heidi," she said and he could see her smile in the rearview mirror, "Papa is the one that always calls me Adelheid."_

_ "I won't see Herr Detweiler for a whole month!" Franziska said with a pout._

_ "Did you want to go to California, Miles?" Adelheid said, ignoring her little sister's complaint, "Do you have friends there?"_

_ Miles was staring out of the window as they drove, "They probably don't remember me anymore."_

_ "I have friends in Frankfurt!" Franziska said._

_ "Franziska, baby, don't be rude," Adelheid said._

_ "I wasn't being rude!"_

_ "Franziska, Abbo will take care of your pony, don't worry," Miles said, "And you can ring your friends if you want—I'll help you use the telephone."_

_ Adelheid smiled again._

_ When they arrived at her building, Adelheid helped bring their luggage upstairs and she let them change out of the clothes Mister Von Karma insisted that they wear. Franziska was fussy about it—like always—and Adelheid let her take a nap. Miles had her all to himself after that._

_ The flat was large—for a student—but it wasn't designed for a family. It had three bedrooms, a guest bed—where Franziska was now sleeping—as well as Adelheid's own bedroom, and the third bedroom was converted into a studio area. There was a small living area, where Adelheid had a small sofa facing a small television that was nearly crowded off of its stand by small potted plants—several leafy vines and ivy and violets. There was an overcrowded bookcase, filled with notebooks and sketchbooks—the bottom shelf had several law books crammed onto it in a way that indicated they weren't intended to be read any time soon._

_ Adelheid returned from putting her little sister to sleep to find Miles sitting on her sofa gazing around the crowded room._

_ "Hi Miles!" she said and joined him on the sofa, "Do you want to watch television?"_

_ Miles looked into her pretty, honey-brown eyes and shrugged, "Okay."_

_ "Papa said he's sending you to the International School," Adelheid turned on the television and started flipping through the channels, "That's too bad."_

_ "Is it a bad school?" Miles asked her._

_ "Oh, it's fine—I think you'll like it," Adelheid said, "But you'll be far away."_

_ "Mister Von Karma said I'll come back during the holidays," Miles said._

_ Adelheid looked at him and smiled, "Is there something you want to watch?"_

_ "Um," Miles said, "I don't care."_

_ "What's your favorite movie?"_

_ "I don't know," Miles said, "I don't really watch a lot of movies… Well, my dad and I watched Seven Samurai and Yojimbo together…"_

_ Miles trailed off, he didn't mean to bring up his father again. Adelheid smiled sweetly at him and brushed back his hair._

_ "Do you like Samurais Miles?"_

_ Miles nodded emphatically and Adelheid chuckled, "You're such a cute boy… I don't have any Samurai movies, but my friend—you'll meet him tonight—he's got a few movies like that—I'll ask him if we can borrow some."_

_ "Heidi," Miles said, "How come you don't stay at the big house with us?"_

_ Adelheid frowned for a moment and looked away. She forced a smile and turned back to him, "My school is here, Miles. It would be very difficult to commute all the way from there."_

_ "Oh," Miles said, "So when I go to the International School—"_

_ "It's a good school—don't be worried. I went there, too. It's a boarding school, so you'll live there. You're not worried about it are you Miles?"_

_ "No, not really," Miles said, "But who'll watch over Franziska?"_

_ "What a good little man," Adelheid said, "You want to protect her all the time."_

_ "She's very little," Miles said._

_ "Franziska will be fine whatever happens, she's made of very tough stuff."_

_ Miles looked up at her, wondering what she meant by that._

* * *

Miles pulled into the garage and parked. Franziska was slumped in the seat beside him still wrapped in his pea coat. Miles touched her shoulder, but she didn't move—he sighed and looked at the two doors at the far side of the garage. One led to the stairwell, where there were ten long flights to climb, and the other led to the elevator.

Lifting her wasn't a problem, but carrying her ten flights might be. Plus it would take longer, much longer. Miles didn't want to prolong her discomfort, nor did he want to risk making things worse. He tapped her again; maybe he didn't have to be in there with her.

Franziska moaned, but didn't stir. He frowned again.

Miles sat in the car for several minutes, trying to work up the courage. He cursed his weakness, his phobia. He couldn't leave her like this. Finally, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger door and leaned in to lift her out of the car.

Miles pressed his mouth into the sweet scented tangles of her platinum hair and whispered in her ear, "Fran, love, help me here," she stirred in his arms.

"Can you put your arms around my neck and hold on?" Miles said.

She didn't respond and Miles had to do what he could to maneuver her into a position where he could carry her without dropping her. Several awkward minutes later, he pushed the car door closed with his hip and made his way toward the doors at the far end of the garage. He hesitated and looked at the familiar stairwell door almost longingly and then punched the call button with his knuckle.

His hands started to shake as the numbers counted down toward the basement garage. Miles closed his eyes and waited for the door to ding. The car arrived and the doors whooshed open, the elevator dinged. Miles swallowed and stepped inside.

He pushed the number nine. He glanced around once at the smooth steel walls and the cheap chintzy pattern on the carpet. The door closed and his knees started to shake, so did his arms. Miles leaned against the back wall and hid his face against her neck. She smelled sweet—clean, like flowers and soap and the warm faded scent of her perfume.

Miles slid to a seat against the elevator's back wall with Franziska settled in his lap. He was hugging her so tightly she groaned. Miles kept his face hidden in her hair, pressed hard against the spot where her shoulder met her neck. He felt like the floor had fallen away and they were floating, his heart pounded in his ears.

"Oh God," Miles whimpered. He couldn't breathe. He held Franziska close and cursed himself for letting this happen to her. What kind of big brother was he? Did he resent her because of the father she had no choice about? The upbringing she never asked for? Couldn't he see that she only defended these things because they were all she's ever known?

The elevator dinged. Miles opened his eyes and stared stupidly at the open door, dazed by his terror. His mental tirade had distracted him at least, and he was coherent enough to try and stand up. It was hard to stand only by the strength of his legs and with Franziska's dead weight in his arms, and by the time he was upright the doors had started to whoosh closed again.

Miles stuck his boot out to jam the doors and he felt the pressure of them as they attempted to crush the hard leather for a moment before the doors opened again and the elevator dinged a second time. Miles rushed out of the elevator and ran awkwardly toward the door to his flat.

He banged the door once with his head and Wellington opened it. Pess was barking in the entryway turning circles, she must have sensed his residual fear.

"Mister Edgeworth!" Wellington said attempting to take Franziska from him.

"She just needs to sleep it off," Miles said, "Is Mrs. Harris still awake?"

"Leave it to me, sir," Wellington said, "I'll have a maid up to help her, just leave her to me."

Miles dropped her legs and Wellington put his arms around her. Miles felt his stomach lurch and ran for his room, "Take care of her Wellington!" He shouted as he disappeared into the back of the flat.

Miles tore off his scarf and tried to pull off his dress shirt. He ended up tearing through the buttons as he entered the bathroom and they made little beady sounds as they hit the tiles on his bathroom floor. Miles stumbled toward the toilet and lifted the lid and the seat as one and threw up in the bowl.

He continued to retch and heave after his stomach was empty, and he started to shiver violently. The light in the room around him faded and dimmed and then returned. He tried to stand and wash his mouth out but his legs weren't cooperating. Miles fell against the bathroom floor, his face pressed against the cold tile, and fainted.

"Mister Edgeworth?" Miles stirred slowly. He was very cold and he had the terrible taste of sick in his mouth.

Miles groaned, "I never want to eat chili cheese fries ever again…"

"Sir?"

Wellington was kneeling behind him where he lay in a fetal position on his bathroom floor.

"Should I call a doctor, sir?"

Miles was still shaking, but he put his hands up on the sink and pulled himself up. He leaned against the sink and tried to focus on the drain.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

"I'm fine Wellington—I just need to go to bed," Miles was still staring at the drain.

Wellington moved to help him but Miles gripped the counter, "Please, just go Wellington. I'm fine."

The man hesitated and then went to flush the toilet, "Sir, why didn't you just call me? I would've met you in the garage."

Miles turned on the sink and then grabbed the mouthwash. He fumbled with the cap with his shaking hands but eventually got it open. Why hadn't he done that? Miles suddenly felt very stupid.

"You're right Wellington, perhaps I should've done. Perhaps there are a hundred things I should've done differently tonight."

"Sir, I didn't mean…"

"I'm fine now, please leave me alone."

"Very well, sir."

"And Wellington?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't say anything about this to her—I don't want her to… I don't want to upset her."

"Very well, have a good night, sir."

Wellington hesitated but Miles had already turned his attention back to the sink.

There was very little Miles hated more than vomit, and after rinsing his mouth with mouthwash, then water, and then brushing his teeth and rinsing again with mouthwash, he finally felt clean enough to consider sleep. A glance at his reflection in the mirror told him he'd had a nosebleed and Miles washed his face. The tee shirt he had worn under his dress shirt had blood on it so he pulled that off. He unbuckled his belt and slid out of his trousers and socks while he walked to the bed and dropped himself wearily on top of the covers.

He closed his eyes and felt a nauseating vertigo, he wasn't sleepy, but he didn't want to move. He cursed into his pillow when he heard Pess scratching at his door.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Wow! This is the first time I've ever gotten over a thousand views in one month—you guys are totally awesome! I want to thank Indochine and GeorgiexxxSuarez especially for their reviews! It's always so encouraging to get feedback—even a one liner! **_

_Miles braved the elevator for Franziska…if that's not love, I don't know what is…_

_Miles is about 14 in the first flashback and 11 in the second one._

_I went back and fixed some of the more blatant issues in chapters 9-15._

_I'll admit I've been posting this as I go—so there may be inconsistencies in some places as I worked and reworked plot details. My plan is to get the whole thing out and then work on something else (I want to complete and polish 'Three Weeks') before going back so that I have fresh eyes when doing this._


	18. Blood at the Discotheque

**Chapter 18**

**Blood at the Discotheque**

_Miles stood on the platform with Franziska; she was livid and refused to hold his hand._

_ "I'm not a little girl!" she shouted at him when he tried to take it earlier._

_ He was only here to tell her goodbye, he and Mister Von Karma were leaving for Cohdopia for three days and then California for the next two weeks. She wasn't happy with that._

_ Miles frowned at his little sister, he didn't want to leave her behind—there was no reason she couldn't come—except that Mister Von Karma only wanted Miles along with him. So why was she taking this out on him?_

_ "Franziska, I'll get you something nice from California," Miles said._

_ "I don't want anything from there! I bet it's a stupid place anyway!"_

_ "Franziska," Miles said, "I'm sure, Mister Von Karma—"_

_ "He's my Papa! Why is he taking you with him? It should be me!"_

_ "It's a business trip—it'll be boring. We're going to be in courthouses, staring into books—you're not going to be missing very much. Don't be upset."_

_ Franziska glared at him, holding back her tears. Then she stomped on his foot. Miles gasped and lifted his leg and leaned down to check his injured toes. Franziska took the opportunity to whack him across the face with her riding crop._

_ Before Miles could recover, the train arrived and Franziska boarded._

_ When Miles left the station he found Mister Von Karma's car waiting outside. He could see Mister Von Karma silhouetted in the back window. Miles stared at the car with dread, he couldn't move. The window came down._

_ "Stop daydreaming Edgeworth!" Mister Von Karma shouted, "We have a plane to catch!"_

_ Miles opened the door and joined Mister Von Karma in the back seat. He didn't even offer the man a look for a greeting. They drove for a few minutes in silence before Von Karma folded the paper he'd been reading and set it to the side._

_ "What is it now Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles glanced at him before returning his gaze to his own hands clasped in his lap._

_ "Nothing, sir."_

_ "Then stop moping," Von Karma said, and he picked up the paper again, "You're worse than my ex-wife."_

_ Miles let the silence linger for a moment and looked at the older man again._

_ "Sir, I don't see why Franziska can't come along on these trips too. It's in line with her studies—"_

_ "Edgeworth!" Mister Von Karma snapped, without looking up from his paper, "Franziska is a Von Karma, she doesn't need this as badly as you do."_

_ Miles frowned at him, "Well, sir. I don't think she sees it that way. She was very upset that we're going without her."_

_ "She's not upset," Mister Von Karma said, "You tend to misconstrue things, Edgeworth, it's probably the biggest barrier you face in life."_

_ Miles' brow furrowed. 'Barrier?' what did that have to do with anything? Silence. Miles shifted stiffly in his seat—he didn't want to disturb Mister Von Karma. Eventually the window took his attention and he stared out with his chin in his hand—like he used to sit when he was a small boy._

_ "How old are you now, Edgeworth?" Miles turned to see Mister Von Karma staring at him. He balked in responding—counting the months in his head._

_ "S-seventeen, sir," Miles said finally._

_ "I have to say, in spite of everything, you've blossomed well." Mister Von Karma smiled at him._

_ Miles swallowed, he never got many compliments from Mister Von Karma, but he didn't know how to receive this one._

_ "It's a pity you're the son of an Edgeworth—as you can't help but always be a reflection of him—but you have a beauty of your own. You'll outshine him in every respect."_

_ Miles blushed a little and tried inconspicuously to shove himself further into the car door, opposite of Mister Von Karma._

_ "Tell me, Edgeworth, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"_

_ Miles balled his hands into fists. He refused to look at Von Karma again, "Um… Sir?"_

_ "What do you see? Do you see yourself? Is that lovely face that greets you yours alone? Or do you see him?"_

_ Miles swallowed again. A pained expression marred his face for a moment before he could put it back behind the mask of boredom he'd been taught to maintain. Was this a test? Why did Mister Von Karma have to do things like this?_

_ "Edgeworth? Did you hear me?"_

_ "Sir, I—Mister Von Karma…" Miles stammered._

_ Suddenly Von Karma had him by the chin and he dragged Miles toward him that way. His bony hands cold and painful against Miles' jaw. Mister Von Karma held Miles' face close to his own—they were a hand's width apart. Von Karma grinned wickedly at him._

_ "Beautiful boy," Von Karma said, and Miles found he couldn't close his eyes. He was locked to that icy glare like a deer dazzled by the lights of an oncoming car. Von Karma brushed the hair from Miles' face with his free hand. Miles tried to swallow. Tried to breathe._

_ "You have your father's face," Von Karma said and he snorted derisively before letting Miles go. Miles huddled into the car door with his arms hugging his chest and his stare focused on his knees._

_ "How is that, Miles Edgeworth," Von Karma said chuckling, "staring at that face every morning? Knowing the killer and the victim in one glance?"_

_ Miles made a small frightened noise in his throat, but didn't move from where he was. Manfred Von Karma was still laughing when the car stopped in front of the airport._

* * *

Miles opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His head hurt—last night felt like a bad dream. His phone rang again, and Miles got up to answer it. And couldn't find it. His clothes were still piled where he'd left them and he found his trousers and dug in the pockets for his phone. He put it to his ear.

"Edgeworth," he said.

"Oh, I hope I didn't wake you up, sir," Gumshoe said.

"No," Miles said—the phone did wake him up.

"We're wanted for questioning," Gumshoe said.

"Why?" Miles said, "I wasn't even there when it happened."

"Hey Pal! Don't shoot the messenger," Gumshoe said, "They're not making it difficult—the precinct downtown just wants us to get down there before close of business today. I'm taking Gina and Chihiro at one-thirty, do you want to meet us?"

"Um," Miles said, "No. I'll get down there later, I'm assuming they want to talk to Franziska too?"

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "Call if you need anything then. Good luck!"

"Okay, you too," Miles said, "Take care."

He threw his phone on the bed and went to shower.

Miles entered the dining room and Pess ran up to him and nearly knocked him down. She whimpered at him, ears back and tail down.

"What's the matter, girl?"

Pess barked at him.

"Miles?"

He looked up and saw Franziska seated at the breakfast nook reading the paper. He frowned; she was dressed for business—gray suit, white shirt. Gloves.

He joined her at the table with Pess at his heel.

"Your dog is so annoying," Franziska said.

"What?" Miles said, "What are you up to?"

"Eat something, Miles," Franziska said and looked up from the paper for the first time.

"We have to go to the police precinct downtown," she said.

"Yeah," Miles said, "Gumshoe called me."

"Well," she said turning a page and giving the paper a snap, "If you hadn't slept all day, we'd be on our way back by now."

Miles glared at her, "I'm sorry I slept all day. I didn't know you had such a tight schedule today."

Franziska glanced at him with her cold Von Karma stare, "You ought to be nicer to me, Little Brother, not only is my father suffering in that prison while he is waiting for the High Court to decide his fate, but I've just lost a friend."

Miles swallowed, "The Karlssen girl… I'm sorry Fran—"

"Oh please, Miles," Franziska said coldly, "She's fine. I was talking about Henri."

"Who's that?"

"Stop stalling Miles," she said, "Finish your breakfast and get dressed."

"I talked with the Karlssen girl's father last night," Miles said he stared at the covered platters laid out on the table and spread his napkin on his lap, "You were out cold—so you couldn't have known…"

"Her father called this morning," Franziska said, "He wanted to thank you."

Miles frowned at the platter in front of him. He set the cover back on it and put his napkin back on the table and stood.

"Where are you going?" Franziska said.

"I'm going to get dressed and we'll go," he said.

"Not until you've had something to eat," Franziska slammed the paper onto the table, "You look ill Miles."

"It was a bad night; a long, bad night," he said, but he sat back down, "I have a headache."

"I went to visit Papa," Franziska said out of nowhere.

Miles frowned again, "How'd you get all the way to the prison by yourself?"

"I'm not a child, Miles," she said, "Wellington drove me. I wanted to wake you, to let you know I was leaving—but Wellington wouldn't let me. He seems worried about you."

Miles didn't respond to that, but he lifted the cover from the platter in front of him again—eggs, scrambled; sausages, pan seared; tomatoes, roasted. He frowned at it and replaced the cover.

"I don't blame him," Franziska continued, picking up the paper again, "You're as pale as a ghost this morning and I don't think you're eating well. I haven't seen you eat more than two bites of anything since I got here."

"Please, no hyperbole—my head already hurts," Miles rubbed his face, "I'm fine. Besides, you arrived while I was in the middle of this blasted serial murder trial—and it's not over. This—fiasco—last night isn't helping matters."

"Are you admitting to me that you're stressed out, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, he slid the platter out of the way and reached out to check the contents of the next one, "I'm not stressed out," he said almost absently.

"Papa wants to see you," Franziska said.

"Of course he does," Miles said and then he smiled, "Pancakes."

Franziska rolled her eyes, "Are you going to go see him or not?"

Miles glanced at her blandly and stood to go into the kitchen.

"Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska said leaning toward the table to follow him with her glare. Miles returned carrying a teapot with Mrs. Kucharka in tow carrying a jar of peanut butter. He looked up at Franziska when he sat and began slathering his pancakes with peanut butter.

"I think not," He said answering her as if he hadn't moved. Franziska glared at him; the paper started to wrinkle in her grip.

"What is your problem!" Franziska said and she slammed the paper onto the table again. Miles set down the peanut butter and glared at her. He closed his eyes.

"Please don't throw a tantrum," he said, "I'm really not in the moo—"

Franziska threw her napkin at his face. Miles hesitated for a moment and then took up his teacup and leaned back in his seat to sip his tea. He said nothing to her. He picked up her napkin and folded it before setting it aside. He finished his tea and then leaned forward to eat his pancakes. Franziska's glare never left him. He paused after a few bites to attend to Pess who was sitting at his feet and gazing longingly up at him. Miles smiled at his dog and gave her his eggs and sausages.

"You spoil her," Franziska said.

'You're one to talk,' Miles thought as he poured himself another cup of tea before going back to his pancakes. He was hungry after all, and he was starting to feel better after getting some food into his system.

"Did you eat breakfast?" Miles said finally.

"Hours ago," Franziska hissed, thoroughly annoyed—she was never one to hide such things.

"So," Miles said, poking at the last of his pancakes with disinterest, "What happened last night?"

Franziska feigned shock and cocked her head with that 'Me? What could I have done, I'm the victim' look that he'd seen a million times before. "Whatever do you mean?"

Miles smirked at her, "Gumshoe said you snuck out of that lounge place with your friends and went to that other place—where the shooting occurred."

Franziska crossed her arms, "It was Dagmar's idea—she met that boy Henri—the one that died… I tried to stop her, but in the end she was going to go—who was I to let them go alone?"

"It would've kept you out of trouble," Miles said and he filled his teacup again.

"I'm also not a little girl anymore," Franziska said, "I was trying to protect them. Henri seemed like a nice guy, but his friends were shady—very shady. I wanted to keep an eye on things."

"Why didn't you say anything to Gumshoe?"

"I tried to, Miles!" Franziska said, "He was busy with that Gina woman!"

Miles frowned, he didn't want to think about what Gumshoe might have been 'busy' doing.

* * *

_Miles hid in the bathroom when the madness had died down enough to allow his escape. He locked the stall and put the lid down on the toilet and sat there. He closed his eyes and watched Terry Fawles spit up blood on the witness stand. Miles opened his eyes in shock and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Thus his second trial ended prematurely. He was off to a very good start._

_ Miles sat there until he heard someone else come in to use the facilities. He hesitated but finally decided he couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. Miles unlocked the door and went to the sink. He glanced in the mirror and saw his father frowning at him in the reflection. Miles blinked—it was his own face frowning. Right?_

_ Miles left the bathroom and exited the courthouse. He was jogging down the steps when he almost smacked into another man._

_ "Hey, watch it," the other guy said. Miles glared at him but the other man grinned. His hair was swept back in a ridiculous array of spikes and he had a wide earnest stare. There was something familiar about him._

_ "I'm not mad," the guy said, "I can't be mad. I met the love of my life today. Do you know what that's like? It's like lightning. How can you just walk away from that unchanged?"_

_ Miles frowned at him and turned away._

_ "Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"_

_ Miles ignored him and continued toward his car. He still had work to do._

_ "Hey," the other guy's voice faded as Miles put distance between them._

* * *

The station was crowded, and Miles couldn't help a slight tinge of envy at the bustling Criminal Affairs Department in this precinct. Gumshoe was still there, talking to a detective in a side bar conversation involving mimed gunshots and laughter. Gina was sitting with Chihiro in an Ad Hoc waiting area set aside for the line of witnesses being questioned in the case.

Miles pretended not to notice them as he led a very morose Franziska to a table where they could check in. She'd been insufferable on the drive over and they currently weren't speaking. Well—she wasn't speaking to him. He just didn't have anything to say right at this moment. He signed in for both of them and Franziska went huffily to the waiting area and took out her phone. Miles stood and watched the other people who'd arrived to give their own version of events.

His phone rang. Miles accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.

"Edgeworth," he said, "Oh, is everything all right? Why—you heard about the trial then?"

Miles chatted while eying the other witnesses waiting around. He saw Franziska get up to greet Gumshoe and they went together to get apple fritters and coffee from a table set out for the witnesses waiting. Franziska followed Gumshoe and the other detective into the Criminal Affairs work floor. She sat on the edge of the desk and swung her legs while picking at her fritter. She paused and held up an index finger to respond to something Gumshoe had said. Miles almost smiled.

Miles was startled when Chihiro approached him. He cleared his throat and said loudly into the phone, "Did you miss me? Actually, you are—but in a good way. Please keep interrupting for a while longer, if you don't mind."

Chihiro was standing next to him now. Miles pretended to be engrossed in the conversation, "Our game is on the fifteenth," he said, "at the diamonds at Expose Park; you should come. I think we'll be in number three."

"Who's on the phone, Miles?" Chihiro said.

"Oh it's just—" Miles glared at her like she was interrupting—well she was, "What was that dear?"

Chihiro frowned at him.

"That is an excellent idea," Miles said enthusiastically into the phone.

"But you are pretty—more than pretty—you're beautiful. Don't fret over that," Miles eyed Chihiro surreptitiously, "Um, sweetheart, have you been watching the news? I don't think that's a good idea. I thought, perhaps, we could have a quiet night by the seashore—we could take the ferry out to the island tomorrow—stroll along the boardwalk—look at the stars… A lady deserves it…"

Chihiro walked away from him. She looked back once to mouth the word 'jerk' in his direction and went to join Gina in front of the television.

They'd been waiting in there over two hours when Miles was called into the conference room set up for questioning. He couldn't help looking a little irritable—after all. There were two detectives in the room, one an older man with a sagging paunch that hung over his belt and the other a woman only a few years older than he was. She had sharp features and amazing hazel eyes shot with green. It was the stupid fringe of her pixie-like haircut that turned him completely off. What was it with that haircut?

"I'm Detective Chasseur and this is my partner Detective Flaco," she held out her hand to him—her voice was dark, seductive, and dangerous. Miles crossed his arms and smirked a little at the detectives—maybe this wasn't so much a waste of time.

"So," Chasseur said tossing her stupid fringed haircut, "You're Miles Edgeworth?"

"Yes," Miles said, he was leaning back in his chair with the cold arrogant boredom that frightened most of his witnesses.

"Miles Edgeworth the prosecutor?" Chasseur looked impressed—Flaco was too busy frowning at his empty coffee cup.

"Yes," Miles said.

"Wow," Chasseur said, "I didn't think you would be the clubbing type."

Miles glared at her, "I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Why were you down there that night Mister Edgeworth?"

"My little sister is visiting from overseas, I wanted to show her a good time. She's fond of the discotheque."

"Where you present at the time of the incident?"

"I was not," Miles said, "I received a phone call from another person in our party, telling me that my sister was in that club when the incident occurred. So I ran toward the scene. I'll admit, I was a little panicked and I might have pushed past the policeman guarding the scene."

"So you weren't your sister's chaperone that night?"

Here Mile's stony façade cracked a little. He sat forward and frowned at the pretty detective. "That was my intention, detective. I'm a little embarrassed—you see I have a certain, um… phobia…"

"Phobia?"

Miles nodded. He crossed his arms and placed them on the table, "I don't like enclosed spaces—especially dark, noisy enclosed spaces. I went into the 404 Lounge with the group but only a few minutes after entering I began to experience a severe anxiety attack—so I left. I didn't want to cut short my sister's fun, so myself and another one of our party went somewhere else. I'm not sure what it was called—it was a diner place. There was an Elvis in the entryway. We stayed there until about a quarter to eleven and then headed back to collect the rest of the party so we could go home."

"Who else was in your party?"

"Gina Cielo, Chihiro Young, Franziska Von Karma, Richard Gumshoe, Dagmar Karlssen and Mei Hyoo Sun."

"Okay," Detective Chasseur flipped through the legal pad she was using to take notes, "We've questioned most of them already and the stories corroborate… So you didn't actually witness the incident?"

"I did not," Miles said.

"Several other witnesses said they saw you enter the crime scene and do a search, what can you tell me about that?"

"I was looking for my sister—Franziska," Miles said, "Gumshoe is a detective in our district so he pulled a few strings. I was told, not very long after I'd arrived that my sister had already been taken to the hospital. I didn't really see very much else."

"Nothing at all?"

"Detective Chasseur, if you are asking me if I conducted a thorough investigation last night, the answer is no. I only wanted to find Franziska and get her home safely. If you're asking if I would care to help you conduct your investigation from here on, I don't think my department will be willing to spare the manpower—we do have our own cases to build and prosecute, after all."

"But Detective Gumshoe said you'd be willing to lend a hand," Chasseur said.

Miles slapped his forehead and ran his hand down his face, "Of course he did."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Please review? (sad eyes)**_

_These last few chapters (13-18) were incredibly difficult to write… Like painfully difficult…_

_I had to cry myself to sleep…_

_Peanut butter pancakes, my husband eats them that way too—it's so adorable…_

_First flashback Miles is 17; second flashback he is about 20… (A la turnabout beginnings AA3:T&T)_

_Chapter 19 is going to be a lot lighter—we need a break from Miles Weltschmerz Edgeworth…_

_Find out who his mystery girlfriend is! (Okay, you've probably already guessed it…)_


	19. The Demon Prosecutor

**Chapter 19**

**The Demon Prosecutor**

"_Nick!"_

_ Phoenix stirred in the too small twin bed and sat up. He rubbed his face wearily._

_ "Phoenix!"_

_ "Mom! The whole point of coming home is to relax!" He shouted back. But he pulled on a t-shirt and hitched his baggy pajama bottoms and left his childhood bedroom._

_ The house seemed so much smaller when he came home. Not that he had much space in his dorm room at Ivy University—but somehow everything seemed diminished and almost foreign. He'd been gone for nine months this time. Mom seemed diminished and somehow—foreign too._

_ "Nick, sweetheart," she said coming out of the kitchen. Her hair hadn't grayed but the color seemed duller. Phoenix smiled at her._

_ "Come sit down and have some breakfast," she said, "You're wasting away at that school."_

_ "Mom, you worry too much," Phoenix said but he came and sat at the table anyway, "You don't need to worry about me."_

_ "Of course I'll worry when you can't even feed yourself," she said and slammed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. There were stacks of pancakes and a pot of gravy and biscuits on the table too._

_ "Mom," Phoenix said gazing at the spread on the table with not a little awe, "Is it a special occasion? Is someone coming over?"_

_ Mom looked at him like she was going to cry, "Oh Nick, it's been so long! And you're not getting cared for out there at that school. When I hug you I can feel all of your bones, my poor little boy!"_

_ "Mom!" Phoenix said, dismayed, "I'm fine, I haven't lost any weight."_

_ "You can't lie to your mother mister!"_

_ Phoenix sighed and added a couple of pancakes to his plate, he wasn't going hungry, but he hadn't eaten this well since he'd left home. Mom sipped her coffee and watched him eat. It wierded him out._

_ "Mom," Phoenix said between bites, "You should help me out, at least. We can't let this go to waste—there are children starving in Borginia."_

_ Mom relaxed a little and smiled, "How's school? Besides that evil Color Theory teacher you told me about?"_

_ "It's okay," Phoenix said, "I had two classes with Larry last semester—he's actually sort of a genius—as long as we're doing art and nothing academic."_

_ "How's Larry doing?"_

_ "Okay, I guess," Phoenix said, "We don't really hang out that much."_

_ "Did something happen?"_

_ "No," Phoenix said, "We just don't have the same interests… I guess. We talk in class, and sometimes I see him out and about or around campus—but we sort of found different paths."_

_ "Are you going to declare a major soon?"_

_ "Mom, what's the rush? Geez, I'm only just starting Sophomore year."_

_ "Still, isn't there anything that interests you?"_

_ "Well," Phoenix said, "I took a class in criminal justice, and I started on the debate team… Larry thinks I ought to try my hand at graphic design, but I'm sticking with Liberal Arts for now."_

_ "You need to think harder about finding a major, Nick," Mom said and she left the table to go to the door. Phoenix frowned at his eggs and then covered them with a little more ketchup. He heard the door open and then close. Mom returned with the Sunday version of the Times._

_ Phoenix concentrated on emptying his plate while she flipped through paper. After several minutes she put the paper down and looked at him, "Do you want coffee?"_

_ "Sure," he said and took a biscuit from the platter on the table and started to put jam on it._

_ Mom came back with mugs and the coffee pot and poured coffee for both of them. She set the carafe down on a trivet and picked up the paper again._

_ "Oh…" She said and he almost choked on his biscuit._

_ He took a sip of coffee to clear his throat, "What is it?"_

_ "Um… Do you remember Miles?"_

_ "Who?" Phoenix said._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Mom said._

_ "That weird kid whose dad got shot at the courthouse?"_

_ "Yeah," Mom said._

_ "What about him?" Phoenix said and shoved the remains of the biscuit into his mouth. He remembered Miles Edgeworth. Miles that never came back even though he said he would. Miles who never wrote, never told him where he'd gone. Miles Edgeworth didn't deserve any space in his thoughts._

_ "He's a lawyer now, it seems," Mom sounded very impressed. Phoenix played with his fork and then decided to take another pancake._

_ "He can't be," Phoenix said, "We're the same age."_

_ "Look," Mom said and pushed the paper toward him, "That's the same Miles Edgeworth that used to come by here."_

_ Phoenix set down the syrup bottle with a huff and took the newspaper from his mother. He didn't recognize the nervous young man standing next to a cadaverous looking older one in the black and white picture. Black and white newspaper pictures always seemed to leave out the details, but the young man in the photo didn't look very happy. Phoenix squinted at it, and then looked up to read the article. His frown deepened as he read._

_ "You're frowning," Mom said as she buttered a biscuit, "Is something wrong?"_

_ "No," Phoenix said, "I guess that guy, the old guy in that picture, is a big time prosecutor, and Miles is his protégé. It seems like a publicity stunt—he couldn't have finished law school already."_

_ "I just thought you'd be interested to see your friend again," Mom said, "Now that you know he's back maybe you should try to call him."_

_ "That's weird mom," Phoenix said._

* * *

He hadn't heard from Edgeworth since that Honeymoon Trial started, and after word came out that Sheinheilig's case ended in a mistrial—he didn't want to be the one to go to Edgeworth first. Edgeworth took these things so seriously, and he was probably upset about the lack of verdict—to say the least.

Still, as Phoenix flipped through the channels on the TV and waited for the phone to ring, he found that he actually missed Edgeworth. Sure, Edgeworth had been the best distraction against his pining over Maya, but they still weren't exactly easy friends. There was always a bit of awkwardness with Edgeworth—a shadow of their rivalry that Edgeworth didn't seem able to let go. That and something he couldn't point to that Edgeworth seemed to keep to himself. Phoenix changed the channel again. Then the phone rang.

He was so surprised he didn't move at first. Phoenix ran over and answered it on the fourth ring.

"Wright and Co—"

"Nick!" there was no mistaking the shrill shout on the other end. Who was he kidding—Maya had a very cute voice.

"M-maya?" Phoenix said, "Is that you?"

"Yeah Nick!" the voice was a little distorted and static filled in the silence, "You lug, who else would it be?"

"Uh a client maybe?" he was hoping he seemed cool headed and not stupidly relieved to hear from her, "You're not in trouble are you?"

She laughed and he grinned—glad that she couldn't see him through the phone, "Geez Nick, what do you think?"

"How are you Maya?"

"I'm great—I mean training is so difficult, I wish I could do it part time—you know?"

They both laughed.

"How long are you going to stay up there, Maya?" he said.

"Probably forever," Maya said and her voice lowered in defeat, "My aunt is totally psycho about me taking over as Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique. But, well… We'll see. I can't talk very long though, my aunt went over to the next town to get some supplies, and so I snuck out to use the payphone. My little cousin might tell on me if she finds out."

"Oh," Phoenix said, wasn't she eighteen? Or almost eighteen? Surely, she could make her own decisions.

"How are you doing, Nick?"

"I'm fine," he said, "I haven't had a client since Edgeworth, but I'm looking."

"Aww Nick? How are you going to make rent in February?"

"I'm thinking about consulting," Phoenix said.

"How's everyone else?" Maya meant all of the people they'd met throughout their cases, but Phoenix wasn't nearly as good about keeping in touch as she was.

"Fine, I guess," Phoenix said.

"How's your mom?"

"Good."

"And Charley?"

"Great, I pruned him yesterday."

"Are you still mad at Edgeworth?"

"We're good, I wasn't mad at him. He taught me how to throw a baseball the other day."

"That's a relief," Maya said, "That's good that you went outside. I figured you were just sitting around in your underwear moping about life."

"When have you ever seen me moping around in my—!"

She was laughing again.

"Do you miss me, Nick?"

He couldn't answer. Of course he missed her, but not like—was she implying that?

"A little," he said finally, "All of that ramen in my cabinet isn't going to eat itself."

"Don't let it go to waste!"

"I don't think it'll go bad," he said and he actually smiled, "and at least I have it as an emergency supply if the zombie apocalypse—"

"Don't talk about that kind of stuff Nick! You'll give me nightmares!"

"Aw Maya… You know you can stay in my bunker if it goes down…"

She giggled. He wanted to kick himself for making stupid jokes instead of talking to her—really talking to her.

"I have to run Nick," she said, "Take care!"

"You too Maya," he said, "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Nick!"

She hung up and Phoenix listened to the heavy silence until the phone started to beep. He frowned at the phone and hung it up. He hesitated—he was already near the phone wasn't he? He picked up the receiver again and stared at it in his hand. The sound of the open line was beckoning him. He dialed.

"Edgeworth," Edgeworth said on the other end.

"It's me, Edgeworth," Phoenix said.

"Oh," Edgeworth seemed very congenial—at least as congenial as he'd ever been, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "I just—I thought I'd check in on you…"

"Why—" Edgeworth began, "You heard about the trial then?"

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth," Phoenix said.

"No, it really could've been worse," Edgeworth said, "I'm confident I can get a conviction when it goes back to court. Why don't you take his defense and help me out?"

"Um," Phoenix said and then Edgeworth chuckled on the phone—he actually made a joke. Phoenix grinned, "You know I won't defend a criminal."

"Um," Edgeworth said, "You're a Criminal Defense Attorney—it stands to reason that you may in fact be defending a criminal at some point."

"Touché…" Phoenix said.

"Did you need something, Wright?"

"I was just…" Phoenix said.

"You missed me?" Edgeworth said—Phoenix shuddered, not him too.

"Um…" Phoenix said, "I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Actually," Edgeworth said, "You are—but in a good way. Please keep interrupting for a while longer, if you don't mind."

"Oh," Phoenix said, weird. What should he say?

"Play any baseball lately?"

"Our game is on the fifteenth at the diamonds at Expose Park, you should come. I think we'll be in number three."

"I'll think about it," Phoenix said.

"Who's on the phone, Miles?" the voice was female—Phoenix grinned.

"Oh it's just—" Edgeworth said, his voice muffled slightly and then he said clearly, "What was that dear?"

"Am I supposed to be your girlfriend?" Phoenix said.

"That is an excellent idea," Edgeworth said.

"Tell me how pretty I am," Phoenix said.

"But you are pretty—more than pretty—you're beautiful," Edgeworth said, "Don't fret over that."

"Will you take me out dancing?" Phoenix said.

"Um, sweetheart," Edgeworth said, "Have you been watching the news? I don't think that's a good idea. I thought, perhaps, we could have a quiet night by the seashore—we could take the ferry out to the island tomorrow—stroll along the boardwalk—look at the stars…"

"That sounds nice," Phoenix said, "You really know how to treat a lady."

"A lady deserves it," Edgeworth said and Phoenix burst out laughing.

"What are we going to do afterward?" Phoenix said.

"She left," Edgeworth said, "You can stop being my girlfriend now."

"Way to let me down easy, Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "Does this mean you'll never call me 'sweetheart' again?"

"Don't be creepy," Edgeworth said, "Do you know Brooke Shield?"

"Um," Phoenix said, "The super model? Isn't she like retired, now?"

And really old—does Edgeworth have a thing for old ladies?

"No, not the model," Edgeworth said starting to sound like his grumpy old self again, "This one is a defense attorney. Her name is Brooke Nancy Shield."

"No," Phoenix said, "You know there's a certain amount of competition among law offices—we don't hang out in a 'Defense Attorney Club'."

"There's the Bar Association," Edgeworth said.

"Yeah, well," Phoenix said, "I didn't mean that."

"She mentioned you, though," Edgeworth said, "Something about the Phoenix Wright school of Defense."

"What?" Phoenix said.

"I'd look into that if I were you," Edgeworth said.

"Wow," Phoenix said. What the heck was going on?

"Welcome to the big time, little fish," Edgeworth said and Phoenix could almost hear him smirk.

* * *

_Phoenix held the receiver in his hand not sure if he was ready or willing to do this. He had to get a hold of Edgeworth. This wasn't right—this wasn't the friend that he remembered. The receiver started to beep in protest in his hand. Phoenix hung up the receiver and stared at the phone for a moment before picking it up again._

_ This time he dialed, and it rang. Phoenix swallowed, on the third ring the line picked up and the harried female voice came in on the other line._

_ "You've reached the desk of Miles Edgeworth, District Attorney's Office," she said, "How can I help you?"_

_ Phoenix balked, "Um… C-can I speak with Mister Edgeworth?"_

_ "May I ask who's calling?"_

_ "M-my name is Phoenix Wright," he said._

_ "Reason for calling?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "What is your reason for calling?"_

_ "I'm an old friend, I need to talk to him," Phoenix said._

_ "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "But prosecutor Edgeworth is very busy. Do you want me to take a message? He can call you back at his leisure."_

_ "Um," Phoenix said, "Sure, okay. Tell him this is Phoenix Wright, we need to talk. It's important. Tell him that."_

_ Phoenix left his number with her and hung up—feeling that nothing had happened at all. He frowned at the paper spread on his lap and then folded it back up and went back to his room. He stuck the paper into his desk drawer and opened his laptop. Phoenix was having trouble sleeping tonight._

_ Why this? The last two months had been bliss. He'd never been in love with a girl like this and Dolly filled his thoughts and dreams like a down blanket. Warm, light, fluffy. So seeing the article and dealing with this anxiousness and angst—it was like suddenly being left out in the cold._

_ He'd called once or twice before. Edgeworth never answered or called back. He pulled up the docket online—he'd been given password access when he began his classes in procedural law. So his days of haunting the Art department—well they weren't over, he still had a few art classes—but he wasn't there as much._

_ Phoenix scrolled through the cases—what he was able to see of them. Trial dates, defendants, defense counsel—the prosecution. Miles Edgeworth. The name popped up in a few places on the docket. Well, the article did call him 'determined' and 'energetic'. A ruthless young prosecutor for the district that was already making waves. A prosecutor to fear. A demon. A monster._

_ Phoenix frowned. What the heck was he doing anyway? Miles Edgeworth obviously didn't remember who he was—so why was he pressing so hard to jog that dude's memory? Phoenix sighed—they were friends before… Miles—nerdy awkward little Miles. Miles had a really tough time that winter—then he lost his father. Then he disappeared. Phoenix only wanted to help—just talk to him. Was he really as successful as all that? Because the Miles Edgeworth he'd known would've been torn and broken._

_ Phoenix slammed his laptop shut. Dolly wanted to go out into the countryside for a picnic. She wanted to photograph wildflowers. She was always better on the weekends—almost like she was a different person. Phoenix lay back on his tiny twin bed with an arm behind his head. He let thoughts of Dolly and wildflowers crowd out thoughts of Edgeworth. Finally, sleep came._

* * *

Phoenix pedaled through the morning rush hour with a determination he hadn't felt since the last time he was in court. It was colder this morning than it had been lately and Phoenix had to wrap his face with a muffler and wear a knit cap.

He huffed along the busy city streets gripping the handlebars with gloved hands. The exposed skin of his face was blushed red from the cold. The courthouse seemed lonely today—forsaken. No high-profile cases and TV cameras today. Phoenix chained his bike to the rack and jogged up the courthouse steps.

He ran to the office of the District Clerk and slammed his briefcase down on the small counter and gave his best glare to the sitting clerk.

"Um," the clerk said, "C-can I help you sir?"

"Phoenix Wright," Phoenix said, "I'm trying to get a hold of the Counsel on a recent trial."

"Sir?"

"Brooke Shield—she was the defendant's counsel on the Sheinheilig Serial Murder Trial."

"Um, Mister Wright, sir," the clerk said, "I can't just give out her information—"

"Isn't she private counsel?"

"Yes but—"

"She didn't leave her business card or anything?" Phoenix pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, "I checked the board, but I didn't see it. I know I always leave like five or six cards after a trial…"

"Ok, Mister Wright," the clerk was starting to look flustered, "But I don't have any information on Ms. Shield. Have you tried the yellow pages?"

"Huh?" Phoenix said, and he shoved his gloves in his coat pocket, "Yeah, why didn't I think of that? Do you have a copy here?"

"There's a payphone in the public lobby—you can try there."

"Thanks," Phoenix said.

He stood in the phone booth with his briefcase, coat, muffler, and hat piled at his feet. He scanned the thick set of yellow page listings. Then lifted the phone. He stared at the credit card slot and frowned. Phoenix bent down to dig out a pen from his briefcase when he was distracted by a familiar voice.

"That's it, pal—I mean sir," Gumshoe was saying, "Detective Chasseur has all of the testimonies in written affidavits filed in their district. I think it's a done deal."

"I'm not nearly so sanguine," Edgeworth drawled and Phoenix looked up to see them crossing the lobby. Edgeworth had his hands in the pockets of a long coat—only the puff of his cravat poking out near his throat. There was a girl with them—a hot girl—who certainly couldn't have been warm in that outfit. She stood behind the two men and gave Phoenix a cold glare. She tapped one gloved hand with a riding crop held in the other.

"When we're done here, we should go down there," Edgeworth said. The girl put a hand on his shoulder and he bent to listen to something he said. Phoenix went back to digging in his briefcase.

"It's very rude to eavesdrop, Wright," Edgeworth was standing over him now, looking especially haughty at that vantage.

"Oh hi, Edgeworth," Phoenix said trying to sound surprised. Edgeworth glanced disdainfully at the piled clothing and Phoenix's open briefcase. His lip curled slightly.

"Are you panhandling?"

Phoenix stood and glared at him, "No, I'm trying to track down that Shield person—like you suggested. I was just looking for a pen."

"I'll do you one better," Edgeworth said and took out a fancy silver case. He handed Phoenix a business card.

"Oh sweet," Phoenix said, "You don't need it?"

"No," Edgeworth said, "You know you Defense Attorneys, always pandering to the next customer—she gave me three of them."

"I don't pander," Phoenix said, "Do you have my card?"

"Take care, Wright," Edgeworth said and started to turn away.

"Hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix said and he jerked his thumb in the direction of Gumshoe and the girl, "Who's the—"

"If you're going to use some vulgar word to describe that young woman, you'd better not finish that sentence."

"Sorry, I just—" Phoenix said.

"Don't worry about it," Edgeworth said and he left Phoenix standing there.

Some stiff in a gray suit walked by and dropped some change into Phoenix's briefcase.

Phoenix finally got a hold of her and was surprised when she agreed to meet him for lunch. Fortunately, the place was near the courthouse and Phoenix decided to forgo the bike ride and walk.

The café they met at was one of those chain places designed to look like one of those one-of-a-kind hole in the wall places. Phoenix had never patronized the place.

Shield was already waiting when he'd arrived and she seemed to know who he was, because she waved him over as soon as he entered. She was an older woman—late thirties or early forties—and her hair was starting to show a bit of silver in places. She had it cut short though, in a very youthful pixie cut.

"Afternoon," Phoenix greeted her, with a handshake and a smile before sitting opposite of her at the table.

"It's an honor to meet you, Phoenix Wright," she said and smiled back at him.

"Um," Phoenix said. Why? This is kind of awkward, maybe he just ought to jump straight into the point of it, "I'm flattered. Uh, Ms. Shield, I've heard something recently that kind of makes me nervous—it seems you've touted the 'Phoenix Wright School of Defense', what's that about?"

"There are some in our business who've studied your cases—we're impressed, by your methods and your success."

"I only have four trials under my belt—most people still call me 'rookie'," Phoenix said—this is really weird.

"You're a rookie, but you've gone toe to toe against some of the best, and come out on top—that's not the actions of a rookie."

Phoenix frowned; she means Von Karma, and maybe Edgeworth too.

"Don't get me wrong," Phoenix said pausing when the waiter brought their menus. He took his in his hand and stared at it without reading, "It's very flattering and a little surreal to hear things like that. But I don't know how I feel about having my name attached to something I'm not involved in."

Shield grinned at him, "The Panini here is excellent—and they have a great selection."

"Oh," Phoenix said, "Who's running this 'School of Defense'?"

"Really, kiddo," Shield said, "Why are you worried about it?"

"Because someone's using my name without my permission," Phoenix said. She was kind of a condescending old bag.

"So give us permission," Shield said casually, "I think I'll do the French Onion soup. It's the kind of day for soup, don't you think, kid?"

"Sure," Phoenix said. He needed Mia here; surely she's seen something like this before?

"Um, Ms. Shield," he said, "Who's running this school? Maybe I can get with them and come to an agreement."

"We'd be glad to have you on board, Mister Wright," she said and grinned at him, "How did you hear about us?"

"A little bird told me," Phoenix said. Shield grinned again.

"Was it a hunky little bird whose name rhymes with Hedgemirth?"

"Uh," Phoenix said. What the heck was going on? "W-we don't really talk…"

"I hope not," Shield said, "We can't have the hottest young defense attorney in the last five years sleeping with the enemy."

What? Phoenix stared at her, mouth agape. It was like the lawyer mafia. Mia never mentioned the lawyer mafia.

"Tell you what, kid. Take one of these, and come see us."

Shield pulled out a case from inside her purse and passed him a card. It read in shiny embossed letters—he didn't have embossed letters—'Phoenix Wright School of Defense'. It also gave an address and phone number and the words 'See You Next Tuesday' in quotes on the bottom. Phoenix frowned at the card.

"Well," Shield said, "Can we expect you?"

"Um, what time?"

"Call the number by zero eight thirty on Tuesday," she said with a grin.

Oh geez—Phoenix thought, military time and everything.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_I had to take a short break and return to Phoenix's POV… Sorry to disappoint, but that's about the most PW/ME it's going to get…_

_LOL—lawyer mafia… I have to give Phoenix a reason to play, since he doesn't take another trial until Goodman's Murder…_

_Edgeworth is such a jerky McJerk… Love it!_

_First flashback occurs when he's about 18… Second flashback occurs about six months before his own murder trial_


	20. The Great Edgewroth

**Chapter 20**

**The Great Edgewroth**

"_Daddy, " Miles said as his father led him up the hill where there was an unused running track. They wouldn't be disturbed there._

_ "What is it, son?"_

_ "Are you ever going to get married again?"_

_ Dad looked at him a little surprised at the question and pushed on the bridge of his glasses. Then he smiled, "I guess that's a reasonable possibility."_

_ Miles tugged on his mitt, "Larry's mom got married—so now he has two Dads. It's weird."_

_ "Something like that does take time to get used to," Dad said._

_ "I hope that you marry a lady that's just like mom…" Miles said, "Then we won't have to get used to anything new."_

_ Dad laughed, "If only…"_

_ Dad tossed the ball at him and Miles caught it in his elbow._

_ "Hold out your glove, Miles," Dad said, "You're forgetting… Maybe we don't do this enough anymore."_

_ "Sorry Dad," Miles said and he threw the ball back at his father._

_ They went back and forth for a while until the rhythm grew monotonous. Dad backed up several paces and Miles looked worried. Dad smiled at him._

_ "Miles," Dad said, "Sometimes you have to get out of your comfort zone. You'll never get better if you don't challenge yourself."_

_ "Yeah, but maybe you could come just one step forward?"_

_ Dad laughed, "Ready? Glove up."_

_ Miles held out his mitt, still unsure of himself. He caught the ball just fine; the hard part would be trying to throw it so far. Miles took a breath and then wound up and threw, it went far enough, but Dad had to jog to the left to catch it. Dad grinned at him and threw it back._

_ "Throw it at me, Miles," Dad said. Miles tried to aim at his father and this time he didn't have to move quite as far to the left. Miles frowned, but Dad gave him another encouraging smile._

_ "That's better, son," Dad said._

_ They played until the park started to empty and the sky darkened into evening. Dad put his arm around Miles shoulders as they made their way back down the hill. He gave Miles both gloves to carry. Miles surreptitiously tried on his father's mitt; it was huge. Dad looked down and caught him. He chuckled and patted Miles on the shoulder._

_ "Someday, Miles," Dad said, "You'll be able to fit that glove."_

* * *

Miles crouched on the empty dance floor and glanced at Franziska standing at the far end with her arms crossed and her face set in an expression of unmasked aggravation.

"I've already found them all," she said and tossed her hair. Miles smirked in reply and leaned forward until he was on his hands and knees and then lowered himself onto his belly.

He eyed the grimy shadows under the industrial sized speaker system. He slid along the floor to get a better vantage.

"You look a fool," Franziska said laughing at him, "Rolling in the dirt like a pig."

"That's not very nice," Miles said, distracted by his search.

"Foolish fool," Franziska said and turned away from him, "Do you even know what you're looking for?"

"Well," Miles grunted a little as he slid along the floor again. He poked around under the speaker for another minute and then sat up suddenly, "Aha!"

"What?" Franziska said and approached him.

Miles had a pair a tweezers in his hand. He held up the bullet so she could see.

"That's impossible," she said haughtily, "There's no way the shooter had time to drop the empty clip and reload. Even if he had spare clips ready. It's impossible."

"Look closely," Miles said, "This is from a 9mm, not a .22."

"So how can you be sure it's related?" Franziska was frowning at him.

Miles smirked at her, "Is this that kind of place? Do you think?"

"What do you mean?" Franziska was starting to lose patience.

"Where they shoot guns all the time," Miles said.

"Don't ask me," Franziska said with a shrug, "I live in Germany. Stupid things like this don't happen."

Miles smiled at her as he dug in his pocket for an evidence bag. He went back to examining the space under the speakers, "You're absolutely sure the speakers didn't move…?"

"How many times are you going to ask me?"

"Right," Miles said absently, "Eureka…"

He held up a second 9mm bullet, the slug was distorted from striking concrete.

"You're silly," she said. Though he thought he heard a note of envy in her voice, "How long are you going to keep this up?"

Miles stood and started patting the dust and grime from his clothing; he looked slowly around the empty dance floor in a final sweep, "I think that's it…"

"Do you think they emptied the entire clip of that 9mm?"

"If they had we would've found evidence of it being fired much sooner," Miles said.

"How many rounds does a 9mm clip hold?"

"I think it depends on the model," Miles said, "15 in a full clip—I think. We can ask Gumshoe—you know I don't care for guns."

"Whether or not you 'care' doesn't mean you shouldn't know. You need to be perfect—to present the perfect case, you must have perfect knowledge."

Miles shot her a dark look and led her outside, "Weren't you the one who asked me?"

Miles stopped at the nightclub entrance to chat with Detective Flaco just long enough to illicit a few huffy noises from Franziska and then they walked up the street to the garage where he'd parked.

"You're dirtier than I am!" Franziska protested when he asked for her shoes. Miles frowned and pulled off his coat in spite of the cold and rolled it up and put it in the trunk. It was some distance to the precinct in Miles' district and Franziska whipped out her phone to pass the time.

"Oh crap!" Franziska said.

"What?" Miles said, startled by her sudden outburst.

"My phone is about to die," she said.

"I have a charger in the glove box," Miles said.

"You have a different phone, Miles!" Franziska said opening the glove compartment and holding up the charger.

"It looks like it might fit," Miles said.

Franziska shut the compartment in disappointment and crossed her arms, "It doesn't work like that."

Miles shrugged and focused on the road as they hit the ramp and joined the traffic on the freeway. Franziska leaned forward suddenly and hit the power button on the car stereo.

"…_**right on the limits where we know we both belong tonight… it's hard to feel the rush—to brush the dangerous—"**_

Miles punched the radio silent and shot a glare at Franziska—she was grinning at him.

"Miles! Is that Lady Gaga?"

"It's not mine," he said, "I don't listen to that kind of music."

"Then who's is it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Franziska watched him with a wide innocent look. She waited for several moments and then hit the power again.

"_**I'm going to run right to—to the Edge with you. Where we can both fall over in lo—"**_

Miles punched it off again, "Stop."

"Who's CD is it?"

Miles glared at windshield and refused to look at her, "All right—it's mine. It was a gift."

"A Lady Gaga CD?"

"No, it's a mix…" Miles said.

"What kind of mix?" Franziska said.

"Just—random stuff," Miles said.

Franziska waited a few more seconds and then punched it on again.

"_**I'm on the Edge! Of glory, and I'm hanging on a moment of Truth… Out on the Edge—"**_

Miles frowned and hit eject on the CD player, Franziska snatched it before he could.

"Dear Miles," She read off the note on the face of the CD written in purple sharpie, "How do I love thee, let me count the ways… Everything makes me think of you—but this is the best of what I could fit on a CD. I hope it makes you think of me. Love, Maddy."

Miles was blushing but he clutched the steering wheel with white knuckled fury.

When Franziska stopped laughing she stuck her finger in her mouth and mimicked gagging, "Oh it's so sweet! Oh my gawd! Kill me now!"

Miles made a grab for the CD and managed to snatch it from her, without crashing the car. He opened the window and dropped it onto the freeway. Franziska frowned at him.

"Miles, why'd you—"

"Don't worry about it," Miles snapped.

"It was very sweet," Franziska said, "What happened between you and her?"

Miles pretended he didn't hear her.

"You didn't have to litter though…" Franziska said wagging an index finger at him. Miles glanced at her. His hard visage softened a little.

"You're right, I should've recycled," he said.

They drove a while in silence and Franziska tapped her fingers on the window in boredom, Miles was suddenly very withdrawn. Franziska leaned forward and started to sing.

"_I'm on the edge! The edge! The edge! The edge—"_

"Stop," Miles said.

"You're no fun, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said.

They arrived at the precinct with no other incidents, though Franziska pouted a little at Miles. He shivered slightly outside of the car and retrieved his coat from the trunk.

No one said anything as they entered the police department and went straight for criminal affairs. Gumshoe greeted them immediately.

"There you are! You're just in time, Mister Edgeworth!" Gumshoe said bubbling with barely restrained excitement.

"What's happening, here?" Franziska said.

"Gumshoe, don't waste time with this absurdity," Miles said, "Just get on with it."

Gumshoe only grinned and produced a large garment box. He set it on the table. Miles and Franziska were crowded in by curious detectives on the work floor who'd gathered to see. Gumshoe lifted the lid of the box with a flourish. He pulled the first jersey off the top and held it up.

"That's it," Miles said with an inflection of satisfied awe, "they look good."

They were long sleeved baseball jerseys with red sleeves and red pinstripes on the body. The front had the letters "D A" and arching underneath in smaller cursive "Destroying Angels".

"Who's idea was that? The 'angels' bit?" Miles asked.

Gumshoe returned the jersey to the box and was digging through looking for a specific one, "It was Chief Skye."

"Are you really here to waste time with this?" Franziska said.

Gumshoe pulled out a jersey, "You can take this one. It's a little big, but—well, Franzi can wear it."

Franziska whacked him with her riding crop, "Franziska," she corrected.

Miles held up the jersey. It was numbered with a hash mark and the number 1. The name Von Karma, arched over the shoulders. Miles frowned. Gumshoe blinked at him and started digging in the box again.

"Who's going to pitch for you, now?" Gumshoe said.

Miles bundled up the jersey and put it under his arm, "Don't think I'll give away our strategy, Gumshoe."

Gumshoe was chuckling as he handed another jersey to Edgeworth. Miles held up the jersey and his face fell into a look of exasperation.

"Why is it so small?" Edgeworth said.

"It's not small," Gumshoe said defensively, "It's a medium. The sizes at this place run large anyway—I don't know why you're worried."

"What if I wanted to wear something under it?" Miles said.

Franziska started laughing.

"What are you going to wear under your jersey?" Gumshoe said.

"I don't know! Maybe a sweater? It's still cold—!" Miles said.

"I think what you wear under or over your jersey is the least of your concerns!" Franziska said.

Miles turned the jersey over and stared at the name, his jaw dropped.

"Gumshoe, how do you spell my name?"

"What's wrong—?"

Miles held up the jersey. Over a large number 44 the same large block letters spelled out 'The Great Edgewroth'. Miles balled it up and tossed it into the box.

Gumshoe looked hurt and shook it out to see the typo.

"I'm sorry, sir," Gumshoe said, "You're the greatest… I wanted to surprise you, so I changed the form. I might've misspelled it because I was in a hurry."

Miles glared at him, and Gumshoe's return look was so miserable and heartrending Miles snatched the jersey back from him and tucked it under his arm with the other one.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter," Miles said softening a little.

"True," Franziska said, "You can just wear whatever."

"Or nothing at all," one of the female detectives standing by said.

Miles blushed and shoved through the detectives to make his escape.

"If he plays shirtless, you'll need sunglasses!" Franziska said.

Miles grabbed her wrist and dragged her along.

* * *

_**March 15, 1235 P.M.**_

_**District Court**_

_**Courtroom No. 6**_

_ Miles stared at the judge with definite gloom. The defense attorney was man named Hannibal Smith, and Miles had never faced him before. Mister Von Karma had chosen not to act as co-counsel in this trial—which he'd been doing a lot more lately. Especially, since Miles had turned twenty-one and come into his inheritance._

_ A lot of things had changed when Miles turned twenty-one. Miles swallowed, more than ever he felt the need to prove himself. That he could succeed without Von Karma's shadow over him. Besides, winning was the only option. He must strive for perfection._

_ **"Your Honor," Smith said, "the defense has no further questions."**_

_** "Very well," the Judge leaned back and glared at Edgeworth, "Does the Prosecution have anything to add?"**_

_** Edgeworth hesitated a moment and the judge raised his gavel, "The Prosecution has prepared a second witness. One who can testify about the specific time of the incident."**_

_** "Oh you have, have you?" the Judge said, "Mister Smith, do you have any objections?"**_

_** Smith crossed his arms, "I cannot say that I completely agree with the Prosecution's need to rehash the issue of the time of death in this case—but I also cannot find any specific objections to their bringing up more testimony."**_

_** "Who is your witness, Mister Edgeworth?"**_

_** "Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "The Prosecution wishes to call the owner's daughter. She was present during the altercation and can establish a specific timeframe within which the incident occurred."**_

_A murmur arose among the court audience and Miles had to force his face to remain impassive, but he gripped the edge of the Prosecution table with nervous fingers._

_ **"Order!" the Judge slammed his gavel and then turned and smiled at the witness as she ascended the stand. She was small and slender and carried herself with a delicate grace marred only by the garishly large sunglasses that covered most of her face. Her dark hair was twisted in an elegant up do and she wore a red blazer over a garishly cut sundress in a black and white floral print. She grinned at the judge.**_

_** "Good Afternoon your honor," she said with an affected drawl, probably cultivated from her time at Cambridge or Harvard. The judge blushed slightly at her attention. Edgeworth cleared his throat.**_

_** "Witness," he said, "Please state your name and occupation for the court."**_

_** "Well, Darling, I was just getting to that," she said and then glanced at the judge again, "The young ones are always in a hurry, aren't they darling?"**_

_** Edgeworth crossed his arms and remembered why he'd avoided bringing her on the stand in the first place, "Name and occupation?"**_

_** Maddy pouted a little and looked out toward the court audience, "My name is Madeline Tailor—if you didn't know. I'm a socialite."**_

_** "A socialite?" the Judge said.**_

_** "The witness is unemployed Your Hon—" Edgeworth began.**_

_** "Now listen here, you mean thing," Madeline said, "I am too employed. I spend everyday engaged in the thankless task of improving the welfare of the populace in some of the darker regions of this earth not to mention managing the ideals and expectations of a society in love with the worst of things—dreadful things! It's important and thankless, darling but I'm out there everyday because I—"**_

_** "Philanthropist," Edgeworth said exasperated, "You're a philanthropist, then."**_

_** "Right, dear," Madeline said and adjusted her sunglasses, "I'm a Philanthropist."**_

_** "Well, that does sound very important," the judge said. Madeline smiled at him.**_

_** "Oh darling, it's grand indeed," she said, "Very grand."**_

_** "Miss Tailor," Edgeworth interjected, "Tell us about the night of the murder."**_

_** Madeline frowned at the courtroom and peeked over the top of her glasses before pushing them back up.**_

_** "Oh it was so terrible," she began and Edgeworth glared at her—willing her to stick with what he'd coached her to say.**_

_** "Daddy owns Lordly Tailor, and sometimes I help him with the store. That night we were planning an art and jewelry expo that we want to open in honor of the Municipal Art Museum's 'Arts in the Heart' campaign that's planned for this summer. Since we're in the initial stages of planning, it was just the managers of the various shops my father and myself. Allen Pobresito is the manager of the Gem Garden—"**_

_** "We've established that, Miss Tailor," Edgeworth interrupted, "Just tell us what happened that night."**_

_** "I was getting there, darling," Madeline said, "You don't have to be rude."**_

_** "Yes," the judge said, "Please don't be rude, Mister Edgeworth."**_

_** Edgeworth gnashed his teeth—he was trying to move this along. Why were they picking on him?**_

_** "Well," Madeline said, "Allen was there because of that planning committee meeting. After the meeting, Daddy asked me to talk to each of the managers separately—to gage their opinions—"**_

_** "Does he often ask you to do that?" the judge said.**_

_** "Oh sure darling," Madeline said earnestly, "Daddy says I have a gift for it."**_

_** "Please continue," Edgeworth said with his arms crossed.**_

_** "So I left Daddy to lock up the office and went to the manager offices on the next floor down to talk with them. But Allen wasn't in his office and Becky told me he'd gone downstairs to lock up his store."**_

_** "Who's Becky?" the Judge asked.**_

_** "Your Honor," Edgeworth said, "Rebecca Neatly is the manager of a specialty shop in the Lordly Tailor store." **_

_** "What kind of specialty shop?" the judge said.**_

_** Edgeworth glared at him, "Your Honor?"**_

_** "I want Madeline to tell me what Becky does…"**_

_Miles looked at Smith who was also staring dreamily up at Madeline on the stand. Miles slammed the Prosecution table with and angry palm and glared out at the lot of them._

_ **"I was hoping to keep irrelevant details out of this testimony. I would like to be done here today. Please just let the witness testify on the RELEVANT points."**_

_ Miles got his way, that day—though it did drag on longer than he'd hoped. Madeline's testimony swayed the judge and the conviction was won. Allen Pobresito was avenged._

_ The courtroom was flooded after the verdict was read—no doubt because of the Tailor's involvement. Miles always hated when the courtroom was crowded like this, it was like this the day his father died. Mister Von Karma was waiting for him in the Prosecution Lobby; Miles groaned inwardly, he didn't feel like being told everything he could've done better. He was doing just fine on his own._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Von Karma said._

_ "Mister Von Karma," Miles greeted him coolly, "Is there something I can do for you?"_

_ Mister Von Karma smirked at him, "Don't condescend boy! You're still a little fish. No one would take you seriously if it weren't for me."_

_ Miles didn't know how to respond to that so he remained silent, jaw set._

_ "I only came because the girl wanted to see you," Von Karma said._

_ Miles' cold glare warmed, "Where is she?"_

_ "She went to get a soft drink or something from the vending machine," Von Karma said, "She should be back shortly."_

_ Miles frowned, but he put down his brief case and took a seat in the lobby. At least it was an excuse to remove himself from Von Karma's presence. But he only had a few moments peace before Von Karma joined him on the battered sofa in the lobby._

_ "Why did you wait so long to make the shrew testify?" Von Karma said._

_ Miles leaned forward and rubbed his temples, "You saw it, she was a difficult witness."_

_ "Didn't you work with her?"_

_ "I did, sir," Miles said, "Like you taught me. She was difficult then too."_

_ Mister Von Karma turned his head and chuckled, "I suppose it was bound to happen to you sooner or later."_

_ "What do you mean?" Miles said and turned to look at his mentor directly. But Von Karma was facing away from him and laughing quietly still. Franziska came around the corner with a grape soda in her hand. When she saw Miles she ran up to the two of them sitting on the lobby sofa._

_ "Little Brother," Franziska said. Miles gave her a terse little smile. At fifteen the girl was gawky and thin, but she had a pretty face and it wasn't too far a shot to say she was growing into a beautiful woman._

_ Franziska sat between them on the sofa and sipped at her grape soda. Mister Von Karma was looking at his daughter, but his expression remained cold and impassive._

_ "Franziska," he said, "I thought you wanted to see Mister Edgeworth."_

_ "Unh huh," Franziska said, "Hello Miles Edgeworth…"_

_ "Franziska," Miles said. He wouldn't have minded one of her hugs, but neither of them dared show that kind of familiarity this close to her father, "How go your studies?"_

_ "Well," she said, "I've been prosecuting for two years now—almost as long as you. I still have a perfect record, right, Papa?"_

_ "Two years is just the beginning, children," Von Karma said addressing the both of them, "Now is not the time to get distracted."_

_ He glared at Miles directly at the last statement. Miles turned his gaze toward the floor; he wasn't distracted. All he knew was prosecuting; there was nothing else._

_ "Miles," Franziska said, oblivious to whatever else went on between her brother and father, "How come you don't live in the house anymore?"_

_ "Well, um," Miles began._

_ "When Mister Edgeworth turned twenty-one, he came into his inheritance," Von Karma interrupted, "So he thinks he doesn't need us anymore."_

_ Miles glared at him, Franziska looked very disappointed._

* * *

Miles parked in the park's official entrance and opened the trunk to grab his duffel. Franziska took her time exiting the car—she had a message she was in the middle of typing. She'd paired the over-large Von Karma jersey with a tennis skirt—but then it didn't get cold enough here to bother her. Miles wore a fleece jacket over his.

The park was deserted except where the DA and Police Department personnel and their families were gathered for the game. A couple of patrolmen had grills set up for burgers and hot dogs. Patrolman Marshall was manning the grill and he smirked at Miles as he passed.

"You want a hot dog, Edgewroth?" Miles only glared at him, "How about the little bambina?"

"Um, sure," Franziska said, "I'll take one."

Miles left her at the grills and walked toward diamond three. Winston Payne was adjusting his glasses and staring out at the field where the police department was conducting warm ups. Miles followed his gaze and frowned. Payne looked at him.

"They finally got you to play," he said, more a statement of observation than question.

"Yes," Miles said vaguely, "Is Chief here?"

"She's up in the stands, handing out ball caps… You have to wear one too, Edgeworth. I know you're worried about your hair—"

"I'm not worried about my hair," Miles said and left him to find Chief Skye.

She called to him before he could mount the bleachers set near the District Attorney dugout. Their side looked sad with only a few spectators, while the police department had several families and even a homemade Blue Badger mascot. Miles looked at the mascot and sighed. No wonder the prosecutors always lost.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "Why aren't you wearing a jersey?"

"I am," Miles said, "It's under this—" he unzipped the fleece, "It's freezing today."

"It's not as bad as it has been," Chief Skye said and then she held out a long narrow box, "Take a ball cap."

Miles pulled one out and frowned at the logo. A stylized 'DA' with little angel wings and a halo. Chief Skye frowned at him.

"It isn't great—but…" she said.

"It's cute," Miles said and he pulled back his hair and put on the ball cap.

He dropped his bag and took off the fleece, then he sat on the bleachers and dug his cleats and his glove out of his bag. Chief Skye looked a little awed at him.

"Wow, you're really serious about this," she said.

Miles made a derisive noise, "What's the point if we're not going to try to win?"

Chief Skye stared out at the players from the Police Department and frowned, "We still don't stand a chance."

Miles shrugged and put on his second cleat.

"Lana!" Both of them looked up to see the girl hopping down the bleachers toward them.

"Ema! Be careful!" Chief Skye said.

Ema tripped on the last few steps and nearly fell. Edgeworth was up and had an arm out to steady her. She blushed and looked at him sidelong.

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "You remember my little sister, Ema?"

Miles didn't—but he knew of her. So he nodded politely.

"I have to finish handing out ball caps, we're just waiting on Rache and Gorman. Then, do you think you can lead our warm-ups?"

Miles gave her an arrogant smirk, "Is that what you want, Chief?"

She smiled at him as she turned to leave, "You said you want to win, Edgeworth? Make it happen."

Miles chuckled to himself and finished tying the laces on his cleat.

"I didn't know you played baseball, Mister Edgeworth," Ema said.

Miles startled and looked at her—he didn't realize she was still there.

"I wouldn't say I was a professional by any means," he said and adjusted his cap, "But it's a simple game at the surface, anybody can play if they try."

"Lana says the DA office might win this year—because you're here," Ema was almost gushing.

"Uh," Miles said, "Well, one person can't make that much difference."

"But you want to win don't you?"

"Of course," Miles said.

"I think sports are difficult because of all the coordination required," Ema said.

"Not at all," Miles said pedantically and held up an index finger, "I think too many people are focused on skill and physical strength to win games like this—but really it's all scientific—"

Ema's eyes glittered, "What do you mean?"

"Well, take baseball for instance," Miles said, "It's all physics… If one understands the physics of the way the ball strikes the bat, you can use that to overcome any physical disadvantage—"

"How do you manage to make everything nerdy, Miles Edgeworth?" Franziska appeared holding a half-eaten hotdog in one hand and a can of grape soda in the other.

"Franziska," Miles greeted her with a small frown, "Nice of you to join us."

"Who are you?" Franziska said glaring at Ema with not a little disdain.

"I'm Ema Skye," Ema said holding out her hand. Franziska just stared at the other girl's outstretched palm and made an impatient noise. Her hands were full.

Miles stood and hitched his pants, the medium jersey fit him too well and he felt a little ridiculous. He looked at the two girls and took off the ball cap to adjust the size, before brushing his hair back and putting it on again.

"He looks like the real deal," Ema said dreamily. Franziska frowned at her.

"He looks like a Great Edgewroth…" Franziska said.

Miles felt his ears go warm.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Yay… Baseball!_

_44 has been my lucky sports number since I was in grade school—and Von Karma already got 1 (not just 1, but #1)_

_Yes that is **"Edge of Glory"** from Lady Gaga's **Born This Way** album (if you were curious)_

_The first flashback is from before Gregory Edgeworth's murder (obviously) Miles is 9. The Courtroom flashback is from more than 2 years ago (Miles is 22-or almost 22)—before Phoenix Wright's debut, but well after Miles has become established as a prosecutor to reckon with._

_For Maddy, I imagine someone like Holly Golighty—minus the tragic past and humble beginnings… I wanted to give Edgeworth a Dahlia-like love interest… Of course, she has to be way over the top… She's the daughter of the owner of Lordly Tailor. I couldn't find his name, so I call him Maximilian Tailor (a play off of Max Factor)_

_The victim's name Pobresito is spelled that way on purpose…_


	21. Subpoena Ad Testificandum

**Chapter 21**

**Subpoena Ad Testificandum**

_**September 9, 135 P.M.**_

_**District Court**_

_**Courtroom No. 1**_

_ **"OBJECTION!" Edgeworth shouted and pointed at the defendant, "Not so fast Phoenix Wright!"**_

_** "Eh?" Wright said, giving him a look of long suffering. Then he straightened up and glared back. The picture of serenity and composure. Edgeworth couldn't let him win.**_

_** "There is a certain thread of logic to the defendant's claims… However—there is no concrete proof that Phoenix Wright is innocent!"**_

_** Wright made a face at Edgeworth and Edgeworth glared balefully back at him.**_

_** "Ergo!" Edgeworth continued, "I would like to request one more day before Phoenix Wright is granted his freedom."**_

_** If White were guilty, Edgeworth would make sure of it first—Wright wasn't going to control this trial.**_

_** "I need more time to make one more inquiry into this matter," Edgeworth said.**_

_** "Hmm…" the Judge said. Wright was giving Edgeworth an odd look—what was it? Mistrust? Hatred? Betrayal? Edgeworth could only meet that glare with what he could muster—desperation… Stone cold desperation. If Wright understood he wouldn't push so hard to end it like this. He wouldn't object to one day—**_

_** "OBJECTION!" Wright said, "Mister White's guilt is obvious! There is no need to prolong this trial any further!"**_

_** He objected. That bastard objected.**_

_** "Hmm…" the Judge said, "Well Mister Edgeworth?"**_

_** "If anyone is going to call Mister White to trial, it would be me, the prosecution. I need a day to ascertain whether your claims have any basis in factual evidence!"**_

_** "Hmm…" the Judge said, "I see… Objection denied!"**_

_** "Whaaat!?" Wright said in protest. Edgeworth gasped a little—and only then realized he'd been holding his breath. He was pretty sure Wright had uncovered the truth—still he couldn't let him win.**_

_** "The completion of the trial of Mister Phoenix Wright will be postponed until tomorrow," the Judge said.**_

'_**Stay out of my way, Phoenix Wright,' Edgeworth willed at him. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.**_

_** Phoenix Wright just glared at him with that odd look on his face. Was it disappointment? Pity? Edgeworth suddenly wished he could hear the other man's thoughts—that didn't last very long. Phoenix Wright had one more ace up his sleeve.**_

_Miles felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when Phoenix Wright began reading off of that list. Redd White's simpering confession on the stand only made things worse. I would've had him—Miles thought, just one more day. I'm a prosecutor. I'm not the bad guy._

_ The look of relief on Phoenix Wright's face was palpable. Did he really believe that Miles wanted him declared guilty? He might've spent one night in detention. One night, and the prosecution would've done its job._

_ Miles barely waited for the gavel to slam before he stormed out of the courtroom. Somehow, Von Karma was there, glaring at him from the prosecution lobby. Miles didn't even pause to meet his glare. Von Karma was smirking a little at him—Miles noticed that much. He'd never hear the end of this._

_ Miles made it all the way to the parking garage of the DA building, but he couldn't muster the will to get out of his car and climb the twelve flights to his floor. How could he show his face there? Miles pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. His hands were shaking. It took him a few tries to unlock his phone and find the number in his contacts. He dialed and listened to the ringing on the other end. When it hit her voicemail he felt a tiny bit of relief._

_ "Maddy, this is Miles, something's come up at work. I'm going to have to cancel, tonight. I-I'll make it up to you…" Miles hesitated, he was hurting—why didn't she answer the phone?_

"_I l-love you…" he said and hung up and thumbed through his contacts again._

_ He dialed and waited for the phone to pick up, "Hallo?" she said._

_ "Heidi?" _

_ "Miles is that you? How are you?"_

_ "I'm…" Miles couldn't say, "How are you?"_

_ "Oh darling," she laughed, "you know Gretchen is a handful, so I am very busy. She's growing so fast—when will you come to visit her?"_

_ "Soon… maybe," Miles said, "Um…"_

_ "Are you sure you're okay, Miles?"_

_ "Perfectly, well," Miles said, "Don't worry about me… Has Franziska been over to see you?"_

_ "Oh, you know how she is," Heidi said, "She's actually in England right now. How is Papa?"_

_ "Uh, well…" Miles said—then it started. He had to stifle a sob, "He—uh… He's the same as ever, I think."_

_ "Are you alright? You sound upset," Heidi said._

_ "Um," Miles said, "You know I have allergies…"_

_ "In September, Miles?"_

_ "The weeds here are different," Miles said. He wiped his face and grimaced—thank god she couldn't see him over the phone._

_ "Are you taking your medicine?"_

_ "I forgot it today," Miles said._

_ "Darling, it's no wonder you sound so awful…"_

_ If Miles wasn't so upset, he might've laughed._

_ "So we were talking about getting a puppy for Gretchen," Heidi said cheerful and gloriously oblivious, "What kind of dog do you have?"_

_ "Um… She's mixed," Miles said, "Chow-chow definitely and maybe Akita Inu… And grizzly bear too…"_

_ Heidi laughed and Miles joined her, hiding his sobs in the mirth of her laughter._

_ "If you get a puppy," Miles said, "you should call it Phoenix…"_

_ "Phoenix?"_

_ "Like the mythical bird…" Like that attorney that stole his thunder, "It's a good name for a dog." He was worse than a dog._

_ "It'll be up to Gretchen, but I'll tell her what uncle Miles thinks," Heidi said. Miles smiled, he was calm now._

_ "Thank you, Heidi," Miles said._

_ "For what, darling?"_

_ "For this…"_

_ "Miles," Heidi said, "Is everything all right?"_

_ "Everything is perfect," Miles said._

_ "It's good to hear from you," she said, "We never talk enough."_

_ "If I know you, you're talking all the time."_

_ "Miles!" She scolded._

_ "I should go," he said, "I just wanted to hear a friendly voice."_

_ "Aww," she laughed, "Take care, Miles. You can call me anytime."_

* * *

Miles smirked at her teasing and started the car. Franziska glared at him.

"Why are you smiling? You lost," she said, "You're getting so good at losing."

Miles looked at her with unmasked sympathy, "I only got two at bats, but both times I got a homerun. When they finally let me pitch, I pitched two perfect innings. I did my best—and I think I played rather well. One cannot save a sinking ship with only one sound bucket."

"There's no 'I' in team," Franziska said.

"Fine," Miles said, "I'm a loser… What now?"

"I just want to make sure we're clear on that," Franziska said.

"Well, all right, love," Miles said and he almost laughed, "Your poor brother is at the end of his glory."

"Would you say you were at the edge of glory?"

"Don't start that again," Miles said, "I hate that kind of music, I hated that CD when she gave it to me, and honestly, I kind of hate her too."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Miles stopped at a stop light and glared at Franziska.

"Why do you hate this Maddy person?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Stop it Franziska," Miles said, "I was having a good day…"

"She was in the restaurant that night—"

"Shut up, Franziska," Miles warned her menacingly.

Franziska stared at him for several moments and then pulled out her phone. She poked around on it quietly while he drove. When the silence grew too much to bear she looked at him again.

"You know that little girl at the park has a crush on you."

"What girl?"

"That Skye girl," Franziska said, "She talked about you the whole time. Is that where you spend your time when I'm not here?"

Miles glanced at her with not a little shock, "I've never met her before."

"She seems to know an awful lot about you."

"Her sister is my boss," Miles said.

"Do you have to go to work today?"

"I was planning to go in for a bit—I've got the Honeymoon case going to retrial in about a week."

"I was going to visit Dagmar, she's home now," Franziska said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Miles said.

"I was telling you," Franziska said, "I don't need your permission."

"How long are you going to be over there?" Miles said—irked at her response.

"I wish you'd stop treating me like your little sister…"

"You are my little sister," Miles said.

Franziska pouted at him and turned back to her phone, suddenly withdrawn. Miles was glad for the quiet, so he didn't try to coax her out of her moping. The glorious silence lasted until he parked in the underground garage of his building. Franziska jumped immediately out of the car and went toward the elevator.

Miles took his time getting his gear out of the trunk and only spared a glance at the elevator that swallowed his little sister as he passed.

Miles tugged at his cravat while he drove toward the building. He frowned to himself—she was going to do what she wanted whether he allowed it or not. She really wasn't a child—the hard part was accepting things that way. She always seemed a child to him.

He parked and stood near the car to put on his jacket and grab his briefcase from the seat. The garage was nearly deserted and he crossed unmolested to the stairwell door. His shoes echoed in a steady tattoo as he made his way briskly up the stairs. In a way the sound was a comfort—as familiar now to him as any other part of his routine.

The floor was nearly deserted, as most of the staff took advantage of the picnic day and stayed out in the park. Miles had other work to attend to. He unlocked his office and nearly stumbled on the pile of letters shoved under the door. He was here yesterday, why had it piled up? Miles bent and stacked the envelopes together and carried them to his desk.

He tugged off his jacket and turned on the kettle then the computer and sat at his desk. Nothing ever seemed to happen fast enough—all of this modern technology and it seemed he spent most of his day waiting for things to get started.

Miles eyed the letters in front of him warily. This was official correspondence for Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth—so he was surprised to find a letter with a handwritten address. He frowned. It was from Madeline Tailor. Miles set it aside and picked up the next one. This was from the High Court.

Miles knew at a glance what this was—he'd written his share of them over the years. But knowing about it didn't halt the sinking feeling in his gut as he read over and over the few details of the case.

"You are herby commanded to appear in person…" he read aloud, "Failure to comply with the command of this subpoena will subject you to any and all penalties provided by law…"

Miles cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. He set the order aside—separate from Maddy's letter. He picked up the next envelope and frowned at it.

This was a very formal looking envelope from the office of Doctor Chihiro Young, Miles rolled his eyes as he tore the envelope open, "Give up already."

He flipped open the single page typed letter and read.

_Mr. Edgeworth,_

_ This correspondence is in regard to an inquiry made by your office on the subject of Albert Sheinheilig. As you may remember, we conducted assessments of Mr. Kurt Sheinheilig's Mental State at the time of Offence (MSO) and of his Competency to Stand Trial (CST). We would gladly repeat the above assessments for Albert Sheinheilig, but we have yet to schedule these assessments and the court has already given us a deadline. Do you have Albert Sheinheilig in custody at this time? Please contact me in this regard as soon as possible so we can work something out._

_ Respectfully,_

_ Dr. C. Young_

Miles cursed again. The police still had no idea about the second Sheinheilig's whereabouts. Miles pulled out his memo pad and made a note before setting Chihiro's letter on top of his subpoena. Well, at least she kept to business only.

The rest of the mail was rather routine, verification of court dates, evidence lists, copies of his own correspondence the clerks provided out of courtesy. Miles filed them away and then checked the kettle. He was disappointed to find that the water had boiled and turned off only to cool too much for steeping his tea. Miles flipped the kettle back on and turned to the computer.

He opened his e-mail and frowned—his inbox was flooded with stupid department e-mails. He sorted by sender and started mass deleting them—he'd never had the patience to set up rules.

There was an e-mail from Phoenix Wright.

_January 15, 2016 at 243 P.M._

_From: pwright-at-feycolaw-com_

_To: medgew-at-da-city .gov_

_Subject: WTF?_

_Edgeworth,_

_Sorry I missed your game this afternoon, I was planning on showing up. Some weird shit is going on. Maybe you can enlighten me? Some shady lawyer stuff. Call me, please?_

_Thanks_

_Wright_

Miles scratched his temple and read the e-mail again. Then he made tea and let it steep while he read it again. Was this a joke? Miles poured his tea and picked up his cell phone.

* * *

_Miles was not very good at this sort of thing and he sat there and felt very stupid while she cried. And she cried. He crossed his arms and stared around the room, hoping she'd stop sometime soon._

_ Madeline Tailor put her head on the table and continued to sob uncontrollably. Miles cleared his throat, "Miss Tailor?"_

_ Finally, Miles thought to dig out his handkerchief—he vaguely remembered something like this before. He leaned forward and held it out to her, "Miss Tailor?"_

_ She lifted her face and glanced at him with her immense blue eyes before grabbing the proffered handkerchief and hiding her face in it. He watched her with a sidelong stare as she pulled herself together. When she'd calmed enough to speak she sat up a little straighter and put on her sunglasses. If he hadn't just watched her cry like a little girl for the past several minutes, he might not have known she'd cried at all._

_ He cleared his throat again, "Now, Miss Tailor…"_

_ "Please, Mister Prosecutor," she said with a blank and distracted air, "You can call me Maddy—we're practically old friends, darling."_

_ Miles was a little startled at that, was she making a joke—after all that?_

_ "I know this is very upsetting—" he began very formally._

_ "Do you, darling?" Maddy said, "Because I think you're just saying that because you think it makes you seem empathetic—but you're just like any of the others, aren't you?"_

_ "Uh," Miles said, "I—well—I'm trying to help, Miss Tailor."_

_ "Are you, Mister Prosecutor? Because you can't bring him back—nothing will make him come back. You can put away every murderer in the world and my Danny will still be dead."_

_ Miles looked at her the way one looked at a crazy person and she lifted her chin a little defiantly. She trembled with a residual sob and Miles could see his own face glaring at him twice in the lenses of her glasses. He looked away from her._

_ "Believe me," he said coldly, "This is just as painful for me as it is for you."_

_ He couldn't read her expression behind those big dark sunglasses, but her sudden calm and the cold stillness of her person told him she was done with crying and starting to get angry. Maybe he could work with that._

_ "I need you to tell me everything—"_

_ "I don't know anything!" Maddy said and almost lost her tenuous composure again, "Why did you bring me here? Why? I miss Danny more than anyone, why would I—"_

_ "No one is accusing you of anything, Miss Tailor," Miles said, "But you were closest to the victim. We need to find out why anyone would want him killed—that's all. Was there anything you know of that—"_

_ She started to sob again. Miles groaned inwardly and stood up. He walked up to the policeman guarding the door to the interrogation room, "Do you think we could have a bit of privacy?"_

_ "Sir, I—" the cop said._

_ "You can guard the outside of the door," Miles suggested coldly._

_ The policeman only nodded and stepped outside. Miles paced around the table and rubbed his face. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of one chair and then sat in the one beside her dragging it around so that they were face to face. He leaned into her menacingly._

_ "I don't think you hired De Killer," he said, "So you can stop playacting."_

_ She leaned away from him; Miles reached out and snatched away her sunglasses. He frowned. Those were real tears._

_ "Do you know if anyone that might've wanted Daniel Cornado dead?"_

_ Maddy only nodded. Miles sat back a little and she relaxed._

_ "Mister Prosecutor," she said, "he's dead because of me—it's my fault…"_

_ Miles must've made a face because she blanched. He really was starting to lose patience. He stood and crossed his arms, tapping an index finger impatiently against his arm._

_ "You know, this isn't helping at all. The longer you drag this out the less likely it is that we'll be able to track down the culprit."_

_ Maddy glared at him, the blue of her eyes darkening, "You're a cruel person… You don't know what it's like to lose someone important to you—and know that it's your fault. I can't expect you to understand it at all."_

_ Miles turned his back to her and put his hands on his hips. He sighed audibly._

"_Actually, I do know what that's like."_

* * *

Miles glared across the table at Phoenix—unsure what to think. Phoenix stuck his hands in his spiky hair and put his head down.

"I'm sure you're over-reacting," Miles said finally.

Phoenix picked up his head and stared at him with earnest brown eyes, "I'm not crazy, Miles! It's like some secret society—with passwords and everything."

"Why would ANYONE want to build a cult around you?" Miles said.

"Well—now… You don't have to get all jealous—it's not really that cool," Phoenix said.

"I'm not jealous," Miles said in a flat monotone.

"Whatever, you keep acting all surprised about it," Phoenix said.

"It's curious," Miles said.

"They say I'm talented," Phoenix said, "It's flattering and scary."

"Naturally," Miles said.

"But somehow, there has to be some sinister purpose behind—"

"Why?" Miles said dismissively, "The only thing you should be worried about is the group using your name. That they want to get together and study your technique is rather a benign issue."

"But what if they really do something to—to…"

"Do you want a police escort?" Miles said.

"Can you do tha—I mean no way," Phoenix said, "I just want to find out who's really running it."

"The department's very busy," Miles said and sighed, "I'm sorry. But since there's no real evidence of criminal intent I can't send anyone after them. This is a personal problem."

Phoenix leaned back in the booth and frowned. Miles shook his head and smirked at him, "Wright, what did you expect me to tell you? That the police department is going to drop ongoing investigations of actual crimes so we could provide resources to finding out who's the mastermind behind a creepy secret lawyer society?"

"I just thought you might have more answers," Phoenix said, "You know a lot of stuff about—stuff."

"It defies all logic that anyone would want to emulate your defense style," Miles said.

"I've never lost a trial," Phoenix pointed out.

Miles frowned, "You don't have to remind me."

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to look at it, "Excuse me, Wright."

Phoenix just nodded and picked up his menu—which was really just a laminated piece of paper.

"Edgeworth," Miles said into the phone. It was Maddy.

"Why are you calling me? I thought we were—"

"Did you get my letter, darling?"

She sounded cheery at least—so she wasn't calling to fight with him.

"Yeah, but I—"

"Will you help me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't—"

"You didn't read it? Miles, must you be so dramatic about everything?"

"I'm not being—"

"Darling, you don't have to explain yourself to me. I wouldn't have contacted you if it weren't absolutely important, but I simply can't let this—incident—reach the public. You understand, don't you darling?"

"Um," Miles said, "Can I call you back after I've read—"

"I've been ordered to testify in court, Miles. I don't want to," she said, "Can't you make it go away?"

"I most certainly cannot," Phoenix looked up at him, concern in his dark eyes. Miles frowned, "I'll call you back."

He hung up before she could protest.

"What was that all about?" Phoenix said.

"It was nothing," Miles said, "But I should go. If anything more should happen, you can call me. For now, I wouldn't worry about this."

"Hey," Phoenix said, "I thought you were going to stay for—"

"I still have work to do," Miles said, "As you can see, it follows me if I neglect it."

"Yeah, but," Phoenix said.

"Maybe next time," Miles said, "Good day."

"Take care," Phoenix said, and Miles thought he saw the other man's brow furrow slightly, as he gathered his things and left.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! I'm going to point out that Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney is copyright by CAPCOM. I own no part of this. (That trial is ripped right out of the game)**_

_I tried to flip it to Edgeworth's POV and…Wow… Phoenix Wright is scary from the other end…_

_Another difficult chapter too… We went a little light and now plunge into the nitty gritty… Oh man… the first flashback—well I think it's pretty obvious! And the second flashback happens one year ago—prior to Miles' first encounter with Phoenix Wright. This is also his second time dealing with Madeline Tailor on a case._


	22. Nothing Worth Saving

**Chapter 22**

**Nothing Worth Saving**

_Miles drove into the half-circle drive in the grand entryway of her building. He parked, but left the car idling and looked at her, feeling a little giddy. There weren't many women his age in this town that he could bring to the opera—and expect her to appreciate it with him. He smiled at her, Maddy Tailor was perfect—the kind of perfect even Mister Von Karma could recognize the value of._

_ "Miles, darling," she said, flashing him with those blue blue eyes before flipping on those dratted sunglasses, "It always seems these nights end too quickly."_

_ "We might go somewhere else, love," Miles said—and immediately worried that perhaps he was asking too much._

_ Maddy only smiled, "You have to be up early, don't you dear?"_

_ Miles turned away from her and frowned at the windshield, "It's not so late yet."_

_ "It wouldn't do to keep daddy waiting, Miles."_

_ He forced a smile—why had he agreed to this? Miles leaned over to give her a lingering kiss._

_ "You make this very difficult, darling," Maddy said. But she gave him a little push and he got out of the car and walked around the front of it to open her door. Maddy took his offered hand and then put her arms around his neck. They kissed again. That's when the cameras started flashing._

_ "Oh bother," Miles muttered and ducked his head as low as he could into his collar._

_ "Good night, Miles!" Maddy said as she ran toward the safety of her building. Her doorman had already assumed a fighting stance—ready to pommel any paparazzi that ventured too near._

_ Miles only paused a moment to see her make her escape, before ducking into the safety of the car. At least the driver's door was against the curb—it made the logistics of escape slightly more advantageous._

_ He left his flat early the next morning, and took the stairs two at a time. Wellington was waiting at the car with his clubs and a bag for his cleats and gloves._

_ "Have a good time, sir," Wellington said after Miles had unlocked the car and they put his clubs and gear in the trunk._

_ "I don't know Wellington," Miles said, "I've only ever met her father as a witness in court."_

_ "Ah, sir," Wellington smiled at him like a doting uncle, "Just be as charming as only you can, Mister Edgeworth."_

_ "Heh," Miles said as he got into the driver's seat, "You must have me confused with some other Mister Edgeworth."_

_ The drive to the club was long and out of the way, but at least there was no traffic. Miles was glad he'd left early, and was certain to arrive well before tee time. And he did._

_Maximilian Tailor was a trim man of middling height with dark hair graying at the temples and a moustache that longed for the roaring twenties. Miles approached him and offered his hand. He tried to smile as congenially as he could muster with his nerves shot like they were._

_ "Mister Tailor," he said, "good to see you again."_

_ "Please, sport," he said gruffly in a voice incongruously bluff and large for a man of his size, "You can call me Max. I'm certainly relieved to meet you outside of the courthouse, I'll give you that, Mister Prosecutor."_

_ "Miles, sir," Miles said and motioned toward the cart he'd rented and had waiting, "Please."_

_ "Oh, you're a thoughtful fellow," Max said._

_ Max had a caddy that rode along with them. Miles drove—it was better that way—and they made their way through the tidy asphalt paths surrounded by the rolling manicured greens and the sun coming up over the trees that hid the city from view._

_ "So Miles," Max blustered at him, "How long have you been a prosecutor?"_

_ "Almost five years," Miles said._

_ "Well!" Max exclaimed, "You're a prodigy! Aren't you twenty-five?"_

_ "Twenty-four," Miles corrected, his ears were growing warm._

_ "Well," Max said, "Your family must be very proud."_

_ "Yes," Miles said—this orphan business wasn't important after all._

_ "Where did you go to school?"_

_ "Err… Well," Miles said, "I lived overseas until I was nineteen—and I was privately tutored in law. Though I did spend some time at Oxford and I was fortunate enough to do a summer program at Harvard."_

_ "My Maddy did two years at Harvard—but I'm sure you already knew that…"_

_ "Yes," Miles said—this kind of small talk was so painful._

_ "Tell me, sport," Max said, "What are your intentions?"_

_ Miles swallowed and brought the golf cart to a screeching halt, "Um," he said and started driving again. What was this guy thinking jumping to a subject like that when they haven't even reached the first tee?_

_ "M-my intentions, sir?" Miles said._

_ "Please, call me Max…"_

_ "M-max…"_

_ "Unless, you're going to tell me that you'd rather call me dad?"_

_ Oh boy. Miles thought._

_ Miles stared at the closed door of the High Prosecutor's office. He was feeling more than a little trepidation. He took a deep breath to fortify himself and knocked._

_ "Who is it?" Mister Von Karma's voice was curt and grating—like it always was._

_ "It's me, Edgeworth," Miles said. Von Karma didn't respond and Miles started to worry—he was surprised when Mister Von Karma opened the door himself._

_ "What's wrong now?" Mister Von Karma said. Miles didn't remember ever coming to him with any problems, and he wasn't sure what to say in response so he just walked in and stood quietly in the door tugging at the cuff of his jacket with one hand and his gaze tilted to the space under Von Karma's imposing desk._

_ "Do you have something you want to tell me, boy?" Von Karma settled into his chair and glared at Miles. The window was pale and bright behind him and it made his features darker, more menacing._

_ "Actually, sir—"_

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said and tossed a newspaper on the desk, "Look at this."_

_ Miles walked up to his desk and stared down at the paper. It was a tabloid paper, and there on the cover was a picture of Madeline Tailor with her arms around his neck. Miles choked and picked up the paper as if staring at it closer would make the details change._

_ "I thought you were going to put an end to this silliness?" Von Karma said._

_ Miles frowned and set the paper back down, "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, sir."_

_ Manfred Von Karma glared at him; his lip was already curled in disgust. Miles swallowed, did he already know? Did he guess? Miles hadn't told anyone._

_ "Spit it out Edgeworth, I don't want to stare at you all day while you make fish faces at me."_

_ "Well, sir," Miles said, "I asked Maddy—uh, Madeline Tailor to marry me."_

_ "Did you?" Von Karma said impassively._

_ "Yes, sir," Miles said, "and she said yes."_

_ "Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said coldly, "Why do you think I care?"_

_ Miles sighed—it was hard for even him to believe—but that hurt. He felt a tugging in his chest, and he might've been nine years old again, alone and forsaken in the world._

_ "Um, Mister Von Karma," Miles said after a moment to find his voice, "She wants to have a wedding, and I don't have any family to—"_

_ "Edgeworth, why don't you ask your butler to attend your wedding? Don't bother me with trivial things."_

_ "Right," Miles said, "I'm sorry sir."_

* * *

Miles was sitting on the divan in front of the TV, with Pess at his feet, when Franziska came in. He glanced at her for a moment and then laughed at the antics of the characters on the screen. Franziska frowned at him and his lack of interest in her.

"What are you doing?" She said.

"I'm watching the telly," Miles said, "Obviously. Where've you been?"

"I stayed over at Dagmar's house, then I went to the prison to see Papa."

"You didn't think that maybe you ought to call me?"

"Why?" Franziska said, "I thought we had come to an understanding Little Brother."

"You didn't say anything about staying out all night," Miles said, "And after that business at the club, I thought you might've realized that friends like that aren't exactly in your best interests."

Franziska groaned wearily, "You're not my father."

"Thank god for that," Miles said and crossed his arms before turning his attention back to the television. Franziska eyed him sidelong.

"You're still dressed… You've been out all night too. How is it fair that you—"

"I was working," Miles said, "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"How can you expect me to—"

"Because you're seventeen, Franziska," Miles said, "Your father's in prison, so I'm responsible for you as a legal guardian—"

"I don't need—"

"Yes you do!" Miles stood and glared at her, "While you're here, in this country, you will abide by the laws in this country. That's how it works, Franziska."

She glared at him with that icy Von Karma glare and then turned away from him with an impatient noise, "Fine. Whatever you say _Little Brother_!"

Miles was still frowning when he turned off the television and went back to his room to shower.

Franziska refused to accompany him to the psychiatrist's office, and Miles arrived alone, half-dreading the encounter. When he checked in with the receptionist—a gawky young man barely out of adolescence—he was told to have a seat, as the doctor was on a break.

"Tell her it's me," Miles said, "Prosecutor Edgeworth."

The kid looked at him warily and then pressed the call button on the intercom and at Chihiro's inquiry, he relayed Miles' message. He was told to enter the office.

When he entered the tidy, modern office, Chihiro was seated and facing the window with her back to him. The doleful sound of a lone cello filled the room. Miles closed the door behind him and stood listening. He didn't mind this.

The music stopped and Chihiro turned and grinned up at him.

"You're a musician too," he stated.

"Hmm… Well," Chihiro said, "We all have our secrets. What can I do for you, Mister Edgeworth?"

He held up her letter and let the paper rattle in the air, "You tell me."

"Oh," Chihiro said and she stood and carried the ungainly instrument to its stand in the corner, "I was only trying to help."

"Thank you?" Miles said with uncertainty.

"Where is Albert Sheinheilig?"

"We're working on it," Miles said, "He was taken into custody a few days ago—in Nevada—but apparently, we can't charge him with any crime that would warrant extradition—it's complicated."

"Oh," Chihiro said, "Please have a seat."

Miles looked around the room; there was a sofa in the center and a leather recliner. Across from the sofa was a chaise lounge draped in patterned throws. There was also a desk with a chair behind it. Miles glowered at her, "I'm not staying long."

"So according to the clerk at the district court, you're going back to trial on the 24th, is that correct? They want us to deliver his CST by the 21st. It's already the 17th. Miles what—"

"Don't worry about it," Miles said, "Ultimately, I am the one responsible for all documentation related to this case, so I can slide your deadline to the right a day or two if need be. Really, you didn't need me to come here to tell you that."

"Oh," Chihiro said, "I just wanted to see you again."

Miles' glare went cold and he tugged at his vest, "If that is all, Doctor Young, I'll take my leave now. Don't call us, please—we'll contact you if—"

"Are you wearing a ribbon on your neck?"

"It's a cravat," Miles said.

"Oh, it's very old fashioned—don't you think?"

"Doctor Young—"

"You're so supercilious, you won't even give me a chance."

Miles' continued to glare at her, but his eyes widened—he wasn't comfortable with very forward women. Most women got the hint right away—but these women…

"I don't want it to interfere with our working relationship. The Honeymoon case is very important to a lot of people," he said.

"You have a problem with an important figure in your life—a dominating father or uncle… You have also ended a very serious relationship, very recently and very badly… These problems have grown to a point that you are unsure how to deal with them and they seem to exacerbate whatever weakness and insecurity—"

"You're just making stuff up," Miles said, "Now, I really don't have time to play—I am a very busy man."

"Good bye, Doctor," Miles said and opened the door to leave, "I will let you know when we have Mister Albert Sheinheilig in our custody. Thank you."

"Always a pleasure, Mister Edgeworth," Chihiro said.

Miles was starting to look a little beaten down by the time he entered Chief Skye's office. He frowned when he saw Chief of Police Gant and Detective Goodman in there as well.

Chief Skye nodded at him and motioned for him to take a seat beside Detective Goodman on the sofa in her office.

"I'm assuming you all know why you're all here?" She said stiffly.

Miles nodded and Chief Gant grinned.

"We have seventy-two hours to get Sheinheilig from Nevada before he is released from the custody of Las Vegas police. Prosecutor Edgeworth, have you completed the necessary documents to serve hi—"

"Of course, Chief," Miles said impatiently.

"Detective Goodman will be accompanying you to make the arrest—as well as two other officers to help with the escort. Chief Gant and I are hoping you can leave by tomorrow—"

"Chief," Miles said, "I've been subpoenaed to provide testimony in a trial at the High Court."

Chief Gant clapped his hands and started clapping, "Ho Ho! Little Worthy, you like to cut it close, don't you?"

"I'm sorry Chief Skye," Miles said, "Unless, perhaps we can convince the judge to turn over this subpoena...?"

"Not likely," Chief Skye said, "Tomorrow night then, you, Goodman, two patrolmen—oh and the Doc is going along too… She's going to assess CST before you leave Nevada—what would be the point of bringing him all the way here, only to find out he's not able to stand trial?"

Miles put his face in his palm in exasperation.

"Hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix was giving him an odd look. Miles straightened his posture and flipped through page after page of testimony. He just wanted to finish so he could go home and get some sleep.

"Miles," Phoenix pressed.

"What?" Miles said.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"I-I'm not sure—I just want to be ready... Just in case…"

"Miles, you know the truth now. Isn't that what you're always saying? That the truth is most important—truth will out? Nothing new can come up in that trial."

"I know," Miles said, "This is mostly to determine his sentence. If… What if I say the wrong thing and they put him to death?"

"So what?" Phoenix said, "He's a murderer. And a psycho…"

"How can you say that?" Miles felt defensive and couldn't grasp why, he hated Von Karma—right?

Phoenix set down the folder he'd been perusing and leaned forward to put a hand on Miles' shoulder. Miles' didn't like being touched—but he didn't react. Phoenix stared earnestly into his eyes.

"I don't think you need to worry about this… Let's get something to eat," Phoenix said, "We've been here for like five," he glanced at his watch, "almost seven hours."

"You can go," Miles said absently, as he thumbed through the remaining folders.

Phoenix put both hands behind his head and stared at Miles, but he made no move to leave.

"They put me in an orphanage, you know," Edgeworth said, "If Mister Von Karma hadn't taken me in—"

"You wouldn't be here right now," Phoenix crossed his arms and glared at him, "What kind of person murders a guy and then raises his kid so he can frame him for murder? All the while making the kid think that it was his fault the whole time… Psycho…"

"You're over simplifying," Miles said.

"You're over thinking," Phoenix said.

"Let's go eat and we can come back after—"

"I'm not hun—"

"How can you not be hungry? Are you some kind of robot?"

"If you don't want to help, then go," Miles said.

Phoenix shot him a dark look and grabbed another folder from the box and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

* * *

_"Miles," Phoenix said and Miles leaned over to see what the other boy was cradling in his outstretched hand. The alien, triangular face of the praying mantis stared up at him pivoting oddly on its tiny neck. The insect lifted its long front legs slowly as if it was going through kung fu poses. Miles grinned._

_ "Where'd you find him?"_

_ "He was in the bush next to my door this morning," Phoenix said._

_ "Are you going to keep it?" Miles asked._

_ "Yeah," Phoenix said, "I'm going to train him to fight."_

_ "Ooh," Larry said leaning over Phoenix's other shoulder, "Let's put it in Jilly Baxter's hair."_

_ "No Larry," Miles said, "Phoenix is going to train him to fight and we'll feed him peanut butter so he gets real big. If we put it in Jilly's hair she'll freak out—then someone might step on him before he has a chance to reach his full potential."_

_ "Um, yeah," Phoenix said, "He's got to reach his full poe-what?"_

_ Larry glowered at Miles, "You're a nerd."_

_ "Stop it guys," Phoenix said and upended his pencil box into his desk. He put the praying mantis inside of it. The teacher came in then, and asked them to pass in their homework._

_ Twenty-four fourth graders moved to pull their papers and books out of their bags. Miles had his neatly placed in his trapper keeper, Phoenix's homework was missing half a page where he got a little over zealous in tearing it out of his spiral notebook, and Larry didn't have his at all._

_ "Somebody stole it!" Larry said._

_ The teacher had just begun to lecture him on lying when the classroom began to shake. Books slid from the shelves and the plant on the teacher's desk fell with a crash. Twenty-four fourth graders moved to sit under their desks while the windows rattled and the world around shook in an unnatural way. Phoenix stared in shock as the pencil box fell off of his desk. He hesitated before flipping it over. Miles leaned over to look inside; the mantis was gone._

_ "Stay where you are," the teacher said, "The principal is going to announce when you can come out again, there may be after shocks."_

_ "That was like the worst earthquake ever," Larry muttered to Phoenix, "This place is going to sink into the earth."_

_ "No it won't," Miles said, "he was looking around for the praying mantis."_

_ "I hope he's all right," Phoenix said, concerned about the insect._

_ "I think there's been more earthquakes here than anywhere else," Larry said._

_ "That's because we're on a fault line," Miles said, "Where the plates that make up the surface of the earth rub together. That movement is what causes earthquakes."_

_ "Nobody cares, Miles," Larry said._

_ "Here it is," Miles said, and cupped his hands over the mantis._

_ Phoenix held open the pencil box to receive the mantis again. He clutched the box worriedly to his chest. Miles smirked a little at him and sat down on the floor under his desk._

_ The aftershock was a lot shorter, but it seemed more violent._

_ "There'll probably be little tiny earthquakes for the next few days," Miles said pedantically beside Phoenix just as everything settled from the aftershock._

_ Phoenix looked at him oddly._

_ "Do you like earthquakes, Miles?"_

_ "They're kind of neat, aren't they?"_

_ "I guess…"_

* * *

Miles startled awake in the pale gray light of early morning. Pess was lying at the foot of the bed with Franziska at her head. Franziska was standing and staring at him owl eyed and wearing the shirt she'd stolen from him.

"What are you doing here?" Miles' voice was still rough from shouting the night before and it came out like a croak.

"I'm sorry, Miles," she said, and to his dismay she climbed up on the bed and crawled up to sit beside him.

Miles' looked around for his pajamas, a robe—anything—to cover up. He had to settle for the comforter on the bed. He grimaced a little when she settled right up against him—actually she was leaning against him.

"Franziska, this isn't a good time," he said.

"I'm not as smart as you are Miles," she said her fingers fell on his forearm and she began to trace circles there, until he pulled away.

"What you did last night was incredibly stupid. You could've been hurt," he said and the wounded look she gave him made him cringe, "But I think you've learned your lesson… So there's no point in dwelling on an unpleasant memory."

"I've never been as smart as you. Even Papa said as much when I went to see him, last," she continued as if she couldn't hear him.

"Don't worry about what he says," Miles said.

"You're just—" Franziska said, "You've never gone to see him… He asks after you every time I go. Because he thinks you're better than me."

Miles felt the heat rise to his face, "That's not true. Your father loves you."

Franziska sat quietly for several minutes as if organizing her thoughts. Miles was still exhausted—he still felt the consequences of his late night. If he had his way, he'd sleep all day. Franziska leaned against his arm and looked up at him. Miles startled.

"Are you going to see Papa before his trial at the High Court?"

Miles tried to slide away from her and ended up dangerously close to the edge of the bed, "No."

"Will you go to the trial?"

"I have to; I've been summoned to testify."

Franziska paused and met his eye. She seemed focused now, like a lioness about to pounce.

"You can still save my father's life, Miles," Franziska said, and she leaned in closer to him. She slid her hands up along his shoulders until she had her arms around his neck she pulled his head down roughly so that they were nearly nose-to-nose, "Won't you do that for me?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't speak. She stared up at him, pale blue eyes glinting icily—just like her father's eyes. Miles wasn't sure if he felt more shocked that she would ask him, or that she thought he might comply. Miles closed his mouth and felt his jaw clench involuntarily. She must have noticed the shift in the muscle of his cheek because she pulled away slightly.

So this was what it was about. She was worried about her father—and why shouldn't she be? But if anyone in the world had a reason to hate Manfred Von Karma, it was Miles Edgeworth.

"Miles, don't you care about me?"

Miles reached back and took her by the wrists and pushed her arms away from him. Franziska made a huffy noise and crossed her arms, she stared daggers at him. That—at least—Miles could deal with.

"Of course I care about you," he said, "I don't know what else I can do to show you that. But I don't have any love for your father—especially now. So don't ask me to do anything for him."

"But he's my Papa," Franziska said, her tone pleading and painful to hear.

"You'll be fine without him," Miles' voice had gone cold and low.

"You don't understand. You don't know him like I do," she was on her knees now and leaning toward him her arms waving emphatically, "He cared about you too—can't you see that? He only meant to scare you—you wouldn't have been hurt."

Miles' brow furrowed, "How can you believe anything he says?"

"Miles," Franziska said.

"Obviously, you've been given a different story. I wish I could make you believe the truth. I wish I could open your eyes, Franziska."

"You're the one who needs to open their eyes. You want to blame all of your problems on Papa. You think that if he dies everything will be perfect for you? Do you? You're a child Miles Edgeworth—a foolish, selfish, child!"

Miles stared back at her—he was too angry to speak.

"Papa, didn't have to take you in, he could have left you there—in an orphanage—where you could rot with the rest of the garbage. Everything he's done for you and all you can do is stand back and watch while they cut down a great man. A greater man than you can ever hope to be. And everything else! All of your neurosis and fear—that came from you, how can you blame my Papa? You're the one that's weak and crazy—"

"Franziska Von Karma…"

"That's right! I'm a Von Karma—we're perfect! You make Papa out to be some kind of monster—a devil on your back. All he ever did was care for you! You're worthless Miles! All the Edgeworths are worthless. Your father was a lying, conniving little snake that tried to ruin Papa all those years ago. He died because you killed him—because he was weak. All of his sneaking and plotting—that festered in you. You carried it all in you—even though Papa tried to save you! You—"

"You really should just stop talking," he said coolly. Even Pess' hackles rose at his tone.

"Why? Are you afraid of the truth? Is it too much to hear it? You were always a little _feigling, _Miles Edgeworth. I remember you with your little nightmares and all of your crying—foolish fool…"

Miles hadn't wanted to jump out of bed, because he wasn't wearing pajamas and he wasn't really sure if he was wearing anything at all—but he suddenly wanted very much to hit Franziska. So he stood and backed away from her. She's only a girl, he told himself, and she didn't know what she was doing.

He glared down at her—it was way too early in the morning for all of this.

"It isn't fair!" she screamed suddenly and shrilly, Pess barked once and jumped down from the bed to stand beside Miles. His fingers found the top of her head and he scratched her there, absently waiting, trying to find his calm.

"You can save him! You can save him but you won't! You won't!"

"You know why he's in prison, don't you?" Miles said, still dangerously calm in his anger.

"Lies! My Papa wouldn't—he wouldn't!" Franziska curled up and started to sob on his bed, and if Miles wasn't so angry right then, he might've moved to comfort her. As it was, he already felt guilty that he made her cry. But he couldn't move, because she was there like a monster picking at every wound that trial had reopened and rubbing the salt cruelly into them. He closed his eyes and started to count his breaths—something Maddy had taught him.

"Papa wouldn't…" her fight was wavering now.

Miles had the presence of mind to find a distraction and found his robe and put it on and then shooed Pess out of his bedroom. Franziska had quieted by the time he returned to her, but she was still crying. He frowned at his little sister; she had always come to him when she was hurt or upset—why was he fighting with her?

Miles sat beside her on the bed and pulled her up. He let her sob against his chest and kissed the top of her head. He held her until she calmed.

"I can't make you understand," He said quietly into her hair.

"You can't know how every minute of the last fifteen years has been like for me," Miles paused and looked toward his window, where the sun was starting to rise golden and bright outside.

"No one can understand it…" He said, "I don't even think I understand."

"What will happen to me?" she murmured into his chest.

"You'll be fine," he said, "I'll look out for you."

"Like my Papa looked out for you?"

Miles didn't answer right away—he didn't want to make her cry again. He almost told her that he'd never frame her for a murder he'd committed. He kissed the top of her head instead, and left it at that. There was nothing in Manfred Von Karma worth saving.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_*gag* I hate golfers… I worked one of the pre-PGA tournaments a few years ago as a volunteer—you could literally scoop up the pretentiousness and put it in jars… But I didn't think I could get away with letting Miles play baseball without setting him out on the links at some point too…_

_First flashback is from spring of the same year Miles faces off against Phoenix (their first trial is in September). The second flashback is from when they were still in school. In **Turnabout Goodbyes,** they make a big deal about Miles being afraid of earthquakes, but Phoenix is genuinely surprised by this—implying that Miles was not afraid as a boy._


	23. The High Court

**Chapter 23**

**The High Court**

_It was nearly four in the morning on Christmas day. Miles paced the corridor outside his flat still wearing his coat and Pess followed him with her ears held back and her tail tucked down against her body. She must have felt his anxiety._

_ He'd talked to the police already and turned over the gun—it seemed too good to be true that Detective Gumshoe had been on duty. Gumshoe told him to go on home; they'd call if they needed to question him again._

_ Miles ran the conversation in his head again—wincing at a realization he'd been trying to deny for the last several hours. Fifteen years… Revenge… Bang! Bang!_

_ Fifteen years… Miles was just a kid—why would someone… Well, maybe he knew something more about it… The letter said his name was Hammond, but the old man in front of him didn't fit with his expectation of what he thought Hammond looked like—of course it was dark and cold and foggy._

_ Bang! Miles didn't see who fired. Bang! But he thought that guy in the boat did. It sounded like it was right there, and he left the gun in the boat when he fell in the water. Did he shoot himself? Miles had been afraid. When he saw the gun he was sure he'd be shot. But that didn't happen._

_Instead his ears rang with the the noise of the gunshots and the acrid smell of cordite lingered in the air. The gun lay abandoned on the floor of the small boat while the fog drifted over dark, silent water. He picked up the gun. Miles-for the life of him-could not remember why he thought that was a good idea._

_ Pess whimpered at him and he paused in his pacing._

"_I don't know, girl," Miles said, "I have no idea what happened."_

_Pess sat and looked up at him. Her ears shot up and she thumped the floor with her tail. She barked once._

_ "I shouldn't have…" Miles said, "I should've shredded the blasted thing and pretended I never saw it."_

_ He started pacing again and Pess followed him. She yawned—a nervous gesture. Miles had his hands behind his back and his head down. The letter promised the truth—something Miles had been desperate for since he was nine years old. Truth, and maybe some closure._

_ Pess stopped pacing with him and growled. Miles looked at her and then followed her stare. She was growling at the elevator. The small window near the call button showed the number six and then flashed to seven in red digital glory. Someone was coming._

_ "Come on, girl," Miles opened the door to the flat and let her inside—the last thing he needed this morning was another altercation._

_ The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open to reveal a very morose looking Gumshoe and two uniformed officers. Miles stood his ground beside the door to his flat, his face impassive._

_ "Good Morning, Detective Gumshoe," he said, shocked to hear his own voice so incongruously calm. He certainly didn't feel calm._

_ "Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said; his broad razor-burned face was apologetic. Miles met his eye and tried not to show his own misgivings._

_ "You've found something?" Miles asked._

_ "Yes, sir," Gumshoe said, "We found a body…"_

_ "Oh," Miles said._

_ "Um…" Gumshoe said, "I'm going to have to—um…"_

_ "I understand," Miles said and he turned to face the wall so the big Detective could cuff him._

_ "I'm sorry, sir," Gumshoe said as he pressed the cold metal to Miles' wrists, he squeezed the handcuffs tight and they made that clicking noise. Miles hated that noise._

_ "Dick," Miles said staring hard at the wall only inches from his face._

_ "Sir?"_

_ "Don't forget to read me my rights," Miles said._

_ "Oh, yeah," Gumshoe said._

_ "And one other thing," Miles said._

_ "What is it, sir?"_

_ "Might we take the stairs?"_

* * *

They were rushed getting ready—not that they were going to be late—Miles didn't like to be late. The argument that morning had left the both of them withdrawn, and Miles was not eager to dive back into the black pool of emotions they'd nearly drowned in. Franziska seemed to feel the same way and she shied away from pushing his buttons the way she normally did.

Breakfast was a disastrous affair in spite of Mrs. Kucharka's efforts; there was no talking at the small table and little more than that as far as eating. But much tea was drunk and many somber stares were thrown at the walls and the window.

Even Pess seemed affected by the gloom in the flat and she avoided Miles and his guest, preferring instead to lie solemnly against the door to the front closet and stare at her master from afar.

Miles chose not to drive his beloved sports car today, and sat in the back seat of the black Lincoln with his little sister while Wellington drove. Though they shared the back seat, each of them leaned against their respective doors and stared gloomily out of their respective windows. Wellington kept the screen up so as not to disturb them—or maybe he wanted to avoid the tangible despondency that oozed from that back seat.

The High Court was housed in the City's Government Center in a building no less pretentious than one could hope for in place that decided the fate of lives—a place that passed judgments with the power and sanctimony of religion. Miles never spent too much time in courts like this.

He stayed an arm's length behind Franziska as they went up the stairs and passed through the foreboding stone face and into the courthouse. Franziska said nothing to him when he stopped to speak with the clerk. She only shot him a hateful glare and tossed her hair before heading into the courtroom. She hadn't been asked to testify.

Miles was led into the witness waiting room by another clerk and the witness process was explained to him. Miles let the clerk talk—not bothering to explain that he had given the same speech to his own witnesses several times. The only other witness in the room was a young woman with frizzy red hair and a determined expression on her face. She was wearing a department store dress in charcoal gray and pumps that looked as if they pained her. She seemed decidedly out of her element. Miles sighed and stood to remove his coat—he on the other hand, was very familiar with this world.

He sat for several minutes with his coat on his lap and stared at the floor. The girl turned on the television and glared at it, the volume control was disabled and from where he sat, Miles couldn't hear it. The young woman was glaring unnecessarily hard at the television and Miles made note of the telltale redness around her eyes and nose. She'd been crying. She glanced over and caught him looking.

"Take a picture…" she said very rudely and Miles frowned and turned his gaze back to the floor.

"Creep…" he heard her say. Miles crossed his arms; he wasn't staring like that. She wasn't even pretty.

He stared at the carpet until the pattern started to shift and blur and then closed his eyes. This was a sentencing trial. The crimes had already been proven. He couldn't know what they'd want to ask him. He found it strange that the defense hadn't asked Franziska to testify—no doubt she felt the same way. That's probably why she'd been so difficult lately. Miles sighed—it didn't matter to him if Von Karma lived or died or even if he went free. He was already ruined and Miles didn't see how the man would be able to do anything else.

"Um…" Miles startled and looked up to see the redhead standing over him. He crossed his arms and frowned a little at her—she'd been rude first.

"Is there something you need?"

"Yeah," she said, "Do you have change for a five?"

"No," Miles said, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He never carried much small change, "I have three dollars. Just take it."

"I'm not a bum looking for a handout," she said and dropped the five dollar bill on his lap. She stormed off with his three dollars before he could protest.

Miles put his wallet away and then stared at the crumpled bill in his hand. He pulled it open and rubbed it smooth—as smooth as he could. He started to fold it—he remembered Larry showed him how to make a bow tie with a dollar bill.

Miles was still frowning at the bill—neatly creased into an unrecognizable mass of rag paper—when the other witness returned. She sat closer to him, leaving only one chair as a buffer, and set a can of cola on the chair between them. Was it a peace offering? Miles unfolded the bill—he was never good at that kind of stuff—and offered it back.

"You looked like you needed a coke," she said and opened her own can of cola.

"That's very thoughtful," Miles said, "But I don't drink soda."

"Why? Is it against your religion?"

Miles smirked, "No… It gives me hiccoughs."

The redhead laughed and snatched her five back, "Fine, thanks for the cokes."

"Don't mention it," Miles said.

She sipped her soda and stared at the wall and Miles crossed his arms and stared at the floor.

"You're here for Von Karma's trial?" Miles startled when she spoke. He looked sidelong at her.

"Yes," Miles said.

"Me too," she said, "I'm a witness for the prosecution."

"Oh," Miles said.

"You're not," she said and she glared as if that realization had only just become apparent. "How can you do that? I don't understand—"

Miles frowned and turned his gaze back to the floor, "I was subpoenaed by the defense—I thought it was odd myself."

She held out her hand solemnly, "I'm Megan… Megan Yogi."

Miles looked at her sharply and hesitated before taking her hand, "Miles Edgeworth."

"Edgeworth…" Megan said, "I'm sorry."

"No," Miles shrugged, "You didn't do anything."

"I guess this is weird for both of us," Megan said, "I really thought it was all over."

"Yes," Miles said.

"Why would the defense bring you in? He killed your father…"

"Hmm…" Miles said.

"I guess you're not going to talk about it…"

"No," Miles said.

"He killed my father too… In a manner of speaking… And my mother… They weren't married you know, they were waiting for Valentine's Day of the New Year. Now it's a Valentine's Day not quite fifteen years ago… Fifteen years… Why does everything seem so fresh? Like a bad yesterday?"

"I'm sorry," Miles said, "But I don't think you should be discussing this with me."

"Are you going to discuss it in court?"

"I really hope not."

Miles turned his face away from her to stare at a different wall. He wanted to tell her to go away—the words were already on his tongue, but somehow, he couldn't find the energy even for that. He felt torn. He felt sick. He didn't need to hear anyone else's problems.

"Mom killed herself after that trial—I was twelve," Megan continued after a while, "Dad was never the same either. Eventually, I had to go to a home."

"Megan—"

"Please, Meg's fine," she threw back her head and drank the last draught of her soda.

"Meg," Miles looked at her, "I don't think we should be talking about this now."

Meg stared back at him with pale earnest eyes. She looked like a child still—a woman barely out of girlhood. So he was surprised to note she was older than him. Meg frowned and put a hand against her temple blocking her face from him.

"I thought maybe you'd understand," she said quietly.

Miles couldn't respond to that.

* * *

_"Miles, it's all over the TV," she said, the scandal in her voice was obvious, even over the phone, "What am I supposed to think!?"_

_ "Do you really believe that I would be capable—"_

_ "I don't know," Maddy said, "But I do know I don't want to have to testify in another murder trial—"_

_ "It has nothing to do with you," Miles interjected._

_ "And I can't have my name slandered all over the country because I took up with a murderer…"_

_ "'Took up with?'! What do you mean by that?" Miles was shouting on the phone, he hadn't expected this, "Are you trying to tell me something?"_

_ "Miles, darling—don't take this the wrong way," Maddy said, "But maybe we should take a break until this whole thing blows over."_

_ "What?"_

_ "Really, dear," Maddy said, "It'll be better for the both of us."_

_ "A-are you breaking up with me? Really?"_

_ "Miles," Maddy sighed, "We need a pause—to reassess our relationship. I feel like we've grown apar—"_

_ "I didn't do it!" Miles was incredulous, "You can't wait for the trial? I-I… Maddy, I can't—please don't leave me now. Not while I'm in the middle of this. I don't want to—"_

_ "Don't beg darling, it doesn't suit you," Maddy drawled._

_ "Maddy, it's Christmas…" Miles said._

_ "I know, dear," she said, "Daddy's been out trying to get a lawyer to take your case."_

_ Miles put his head against the wall, "Are you really going to end us—our relationship—over this?"_

_ "It's murder!" Maddy said in a harsh whisper, "I can't—I don't know what to think."_

_ Miles closed his eyes—of all the… He hadn't expected this. They might as well kill him now._

_ "Daddy says no one wants to defend you—what kind of message do you think that sends?"_

_ "Time's up," the guard said tapping him on the shoulder._

_ "I have to go," Miles said._

_ "Take care, Darling," Maddy said, "Merry Christmas."_

_ Miles slammed the receiver into the holder, and he couldn't help thinking that he'd wasted that phone call. They led him toward the holding cell he currently had to himself, but before he could be locked in, he was told he had a visitor. Miles sighed and let the guard escort him back out and toward the visitor's cell. This was his third visitor so far, and the day was still early._

_ Miles groaned when he entered the cell and saw that blue suited shoulder and the dark hair swept back in a rakish array of spikes._

_ "I guess it comes with the territory," Phoenix said leaning toward his assistant—girlfriend—whatever. They hadn't noticed him yet._

_ "I'm not sure it's something we should mention to too many people—AHH!"_

_ She actually backed away from the plexi-glass when she noticed him glaring at them. Phoenix met his eye through the glass; his brow furrowed with a mixture of defiance and sympathy. Miles turned and stalked back toward the guard._

_ "Hey! Edgeworth! Come back!" _

_ Miles stopped and hesitated before turning toward the glass, "What are you doing here!?"_

_ Maya mumbled at Phoenix and he leaned toward her and mumbled back. Miles moved back to the window._

_ "So… You've come to laugh at the fallen attorney?" Miles said._

_ Phoenix glared at him._

_ "Then laugh. Laugh!"_

_ Phoenix crossed his arms and continued to glare._

_ "Well? Why aren't you laughing?"_

_ Maya tugged Phoenix's sleeve, "Nick… Should we be laughing?"_

_ Phoenix muttered something else to her. Miles turned away from the window—of all the things to happen today. There was no way ANYONE could have a worse day than he was having right now—and on Christmas too…_

_ "Edgeworth," Phoenix said and Miles gave him a sidelong glare, "We don't have so much free time we can spend it coming down here to laugh at you."_

_ Edgeworth looked at him and then glanced at Maya and then returned his glare to Phoenix, "Yes you do…"_

_ Phoenix scratched his head and raised an eyebrow in what Miles could only take for acceptance. Edgeworth looked down at his hands and tugged at his cuffs. They weren't friends. But Phoenix Wright was someone he couldn't brush off as a passing acquaintance—he didn't need to be involved with this mess—he didn't even need to know about it. Miles didn't want him to know about it._

_ "I hoped you wouldn't come," Miles said looking up from his thoughts to stare into the earnest face of his boyhood friend, "I didn't want you to see me… Not like this."_

_ Phoenix made a face at him and put his hands on his hips. Phoenix sighed as if he were the one weary of dealing with a difficult person. Miles frowned at him and crossed his arms._

_ "Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "Tell me what happened."_

_ Miles glared at him for several moments and Phoenix glared back. Maya was starting to cringe a little._

_ "Why should I?" Miles said, "What are you going to do about it?"_

_ "Duh!" Maya said and Miles looked a little shocked at her, "We're going to help you—that's what!"_

_ Miles raised an eyebrow at her. He crossed his arms and shook his head._

_ "Help me?" he said, "You? Don't be ridiculous."_

_ Phoenix's large eyes seemed to bug out in shock, "Sorry?"_

_ Miles slammed the plexi-glass divider, "You're a novice! You've only been in three trials!"_

_ "Hey!" Phoenix said._

_ "Sure you got lucky and won all three," Miles said, "But your luck's bound to run out someday… You need real skill, Wright. Experience…"_

_ Phoenix looked slightly offended and Miles didn't feel terrible about that. Maya on the other hand—she was livid._

_ "Nick! He's insulting you! Nick!"_

_ Phoenix's eyes went from hurt to sympathetic and Miles glared back, real ire starting to rise. Maya puffed out her cheeks and balled her fists._

_ "Why am I always the one who has to get angry!"_

_ Miles turned his back to the glass again. He didn't need Phoenix Wright feeling sorry for him either. He didn't need his help—how much more clear could Miles be about it?_

_ "Edgeworth," Phoenix said finally, "Let me defend you."_

_ Miles felt it—that slight lump in his throat a tugging in his chest—Phoenix wouldn't give up on him. And how many people did Miles really know like that? Miles lifted his chin in defiance; he wasn't going to let this person in. What would Phoenix think about him if he learned the whole sordid truth about his life?_

_ Miles forced a laugh, "Good one, Wright. But I'm not that hard up—not yet."_

_ Phoenix actually looked hurt, and Miles almost felt guilty—almost._

_ "Wh—what do you mean by that?"_

_ Miles leaned his head back and smirked at Phoenix, "Me? Trust a wet behind the ears lawyer with only three trials under his belt?"_

_ Phoenix's face gradually grew more defiant as he spoke, but Miles continued his swaggering bravado as he paced in front of the glass. Maya looked genuinely angry._

_ "Wh-what!?" she said._

_ "My case is near hopeless Wright; every defense attorney I've talked to has turned me down."_

_ "What?" Phoenix said._

_ "Simply put, they were afraid they'd lose," Miles tapped an index finger to his temple, "It occurred to me that it might be my fault that they lack confidence—after all, I did get every single one of their clients declared 'guilty'."_

_ "I don't believe it," Phoenix said, his voice low and incredulous._

_ Miles turned away, "Regardless," he looked over his shoulder at his rival, "I don't want you involved with this."_

_ Miles sighed, staring at the bare walls of the visitor's cell, "You in particular, I cannot ask to do this…"_

* * *

**January 18, 1205 P.M.**

**High Court**

**Courtroom No. 3**

**"Miles Edgeworth," Miles said for the record, "I'm a prosecuting attorney in my district."**

** "Tell us how you know Manfred Von Karma."**

The defense attorney was an older woman Miles didn't recognize. Someone Von Karma must know from his long past as a successful prosecutor. Funny, Miles thought, he didn't have nearly so easy a time digging up counsel to defend him in his trial. Then, if Phoenix Wright hadn't forced the issue, he might be sitting in Von Karma's seat now.

**"Mister Edgeworth?"**

Miles thought he could feel his throat close up, his eyes swept the audience in the courtroom. Franziska was glaring hard at him. The other faces in the audience seemed merely curious.

**"He—em, he adopted me, when—when my father died," Miles said, "I didn't have any other relatives, so he took me in."**

** "You were orphaned?"**

**"Yes." Miles said. **

He felt a prickle along his scalp—this was very uncomfortable. Miles couldn't know just how deep they'd feel they needed to dig.

** "Would you say that was something someone evil and heartless would do?"**

Miles frowned and he glanced out at the court audience and rested for a moment on his adoptive father, his mentor—the man he'd looked up to for fifteen years.

"**No."**

Manfred Von Karma's expression was impassive, Miles looked up at Franziska.

**"Can you elaborate, Mister Edgeworth? About your relationship with Mister Von Karma?"**

**"Objection!"**

Miles didn't recognize the prosecutor, he was young—not so young as himself—but then one might consider Miles Edgeworth a special case. The dark-haired prosecutor stood at his table and glanced once at the defense.

**"Your honor, the question is very broad," he said, "We don't need to delve into the witness's entire life story to establish the extent to which Mister Von Karma's crimes have affected the witness."**

**"Sustained," the female judge said.**

Miles sat up a little straighter and met the prosecutor's eye—there was a fellow he might get along with.

Von Karma's attorney leaned over and took some direction from her client. Miles watched her with barely concealed anticipation a she turned to address him again.

**"Mister Edgeworth, do you feel that Mister Von Karma was in anyway cruel or malicious toward you while you lived in his household?"**

Miles looked at her and then at Mister Von Karma. He thought the old man was smiling now. Miles cleared his throat and looked down at his hands—this trial wasn't about him.

**"He had children of his own, he didn't need to do what he did—clothe me, feed me, educate me… But he chose to…"**

** "You believe he did you a kindness, Mister Edgeworth?"**

** Miles didn't hesitate, "Yes."**

Von Karma's eyes narrowed a little but above him in the stands, Franziska's glare softened and she leaned forward in her seat. Miles shifted his seat on the stand; he was ready to be done.

**The defense shot a rather gloating look toward the prosecution and then addressed the judges, "I have no further questions, Your Honor."**

The prosecutor stood holding a yellow legal pad and walked around to the front of his table. He looked up at the judge after a sidelong glance at the defense. He cleared his throat.

**"It was established, during the Hammond murder trial—where Mister Von Karma was indicted for the murder of Gregory Edgeworth, that Von Karma tried to put the blame on other people—namely Yanni Yogi and even you, yourself. Do you agree with that assessment?"**

** Miles swallowed, "It happened a very long time ago."**

** "But your father was murdered then, correct?"**

** "Yes." Miles said.**

** "And he was murdered by this man, Manfred Von Karma?"**

** "Well…" Miles said, "I believe so."**

** "You believe?" the judge said, "What do you mean by that?"**

** "I have learned things only recently that made me believe that, Your Honor," Miles said.**

** "Mister Edgeworth," the judge said, "Why do you believe this?"**

** "The evidence presented in the Hammond trial was incontrovertible."**

** "Your Honor," the prosecutor said, "Mister Von Karma has already confessed to the murder of Gregory Edgeworth."**

** "I realize that," the judge said, "I happen to know what I'm here for."**

** "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but may I continue?"**

The young lawyer scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Miles was reminded suddenly of Phoenix Wright.

"**Proceed," she said, "But you better watch that attitude."**

The prosecutor grinned stupidly at the judge.

"**Um…" he said, slowly regaining his composure, "Mister Edgeworth, while you were a ward of Mister Von Karma, did you ever talk about your father's murder?"**

Miles swallowed—hard. He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and looked at Mister Von Karma. Von Karma had his arms crossed and seemed to be avoiding looking at Miles.

"**Uh, yes," Miles said.**

"**Was that something you discussed often?"**

"**No."**

"**How often, would you say, has the subject of your father's murder come up in the time you've known Mister Von Karma?"**

"**I only remember talking about it once or twice—it was not very often at all."**

"**So, during those discussions—can you specifically recall what was said?"**

"**Er, not really."**

"**Not at all?"**

"**Objection," the defense said, "Your Honor, what is the point of this?"**

"**I want to establish the extent of Mister Von Karma's maliciousness."**

"**I don't follow," the judge said.**

"**It wasn't enough for Von Karma to take a man's life, he continued to take his revenge on the life of that man's son—"**

Miles felt the heat rush to his ears, where was he going with this?

"**Your Honor!"**

"**Sustained," the judge said, "What are you trying to ask the witness?"**

"**I'll rephrase the question, Your Honor," the prosecutor said and then turned to Miles, "Did Mister Von Karma ever tell you that it was you who killed your father?"**

Miles opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was completely at a loss.

"**Mister Edgeworth?"**

"**It was an accident!"**

Miles was as shocked at his own outburst as most of the rest of the court. Mister Von Karma was smiling at him, **"I didn't—"**

"**No you didn't, but you believed you had, didn't you?"**

"**My father's murder went unsolved for fifteen years…" Miles rubbed his forehead, "I thought about it a lot in that time. I didn't know…"**

"**Just answer the question, Mister Edgeworth."**

"**I thought it was me," Miles said, "It was an accident—"**

"**Mister Edgeworth," the prosecutor continued, "Were you surprised to learn the truth?"**

"**Um…" Miles clenched his fists behind the stand.**

"**OBJECTION!" **

The defense counsel was on her feet and slammed her palms on the table. Miles glared at her—at least she made it stop.

"**Your Honor, what's the point of this?"**

"**Well?" the judge said to the young prosecutor.**

"**Your Honor, if anyone has a reason to want Mister Von Karma condemned, it's this man. I'm just—"**

"**Your Honor," the defense counsel countered, "He's making biased assumptions, I move to have this testimony stricken from the record!"**

"**Objection! It shows malice and planning on the part of the defendant."**

"**Overruled," the judge said, "We're not here to establish whether or not the defendant committed these crimes. I won't allow this line of questioning to continue, but I'm not going to have anything stricken from the record. Mister Pravda, can you wrap this up please?"**

"**Yes, Your Honor," Prosecutor Pravda said, "Mister Edgeworth, do you believe Mister Von Karma deserves the death penalty?"**

Miles stared at the man for a moment and then looked at Von Karma. He was staring directly at Miles. Miles looked up at Franziska she was staring intently at him.

"**No," Miles said.**

The prosecutor hesitated, he looked disappointed. Mister Von Karma smirked a little at Miles and Miles sighed—relieved.

"**I have no further questions, Your Honor."**

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney is copyright by CAPCOM. (The dialogue in the second flashback is taken straight out of the game)**_

_Ahhh! Phoenix needs to save the day… Flashbacks from Turnabout Goodbyes, (if you weren't sure). When I wrote the bit with Maddy, I was listening to "Merry Christmas Darling"... SO. MUCH. IRONY._

_I guess I need to go back and fix the Sentencing Trial, but I put it up like this for now… This chapter was hard to write… _


	24. That Burger Joint

**Chapter 24**

**That Burger Joint**

_Miles sat still on the bench in the cell where the guard had left him after the trial. It was the second day and the judge still hadn't declared a verdict. He felt sick and tired. The rollercoaster testimony Larry had given and Phoenix's tenuous conjectures didn't help._

_ Miles stared at his own trembling hands for a moment before clenching them into steadier fists. His wretched deliberation was interrupted by the guard's return. Miles' glare must've been particularly harsh because the guard grunted rudely at him and gestured at him to stand and approach the barred wall of the cell so the cuffs could be placed on his wrists. Miles' closed his as the guard clicked them tight—perhaps more tightly than normal._

_ "Is it a visitor?" Miles' asked._

_ The guard grunted affirmatively and opened the cell to remove his charge. Miles let himself be led toward the visitor's room—it was probably Phoenix Wright again. But Miles couldn't help harboring a cringing hope that it might be someone else—Maddy or Mister Von Karma. He glared at the figure in the plexi-glass as soon as he entered the cell._

_ "You look grim as always," Phoenix said—again with sympathy filling his dark eyes and softening the set of his brow. Miles didn't need this right now. He turned his head and made derisive noise._

_ Maya suddenly bounded up to the window and pushed Phoenix to the side—excitement brightening her young face. She hesitated when she met his glare._

_ "Um…" she began, "Mister Edgeworth? I heard the story about the class trial…"_

_ Miles raised an eyebrow—this was unexpected. No he expected premature gloating and maybe a bit of boasting, but this?_

_ "Class trial? What do you mean?"_

_ "You… don't remember?_

_ "No, I don't."_

_ Maya looked crestfallen, "Your lunch money was stolen, wasn't it? In the fourth grade…?"_

_ "Lunch money…?" Miles said not following her prompt; he glanced at Phoenix who had an open hopeful look on his face. Then he remembered, "Oh…"_

_ Maya lit up again._

_ "Oh, right. Yes, I seem to remember something like that," Miles said._

_ Maya bumped Phoenix in the arm, "Nick," she said in what could only be described as a stage whisper, "I think you're the only one that really remembers."_

_ Phoenix's gaze grew distant and he looked away for a moment, "Well, it probably only really mattered to me anyway."_

_ Miles frowned at him, did he really think that? Well, it was all trivial nonsense now, anyway. Ancient history._

_ "Mister Edgeworth," Maya said still hopeful and enthusiastic, "didn't you know?"_

_ Miles looked at her and then Phoenix. What was the point of this visit?_

_ "That trial was the reason Nick became a defense attorney!"_

_ Miles frowned and turned to the wall. The hour was late for this sort of thing—tomorrow the judge would rule on the case—and that would be the end of it. There was no time for this kind of sentiment._

_ "Ridiculous," Miles said and glared at his boyhood friend. Phoenix seemed to be forcing his own stony glare—there was real hurt in those dark eyes._

_ "That said…" Miles continued coolly, "It does sound like the kind of thing you'd do."_

_ Phoenix crossed his arms and seemed to steady in his resolve. You can't save me Wright. This isn't a simple case of good and bad. Miles smirked._

_ "You haven't changed a bit, have you, Wright? So…" Miles glanced at the ceiling for a moment, "Simple."_

_ Phoenix's brow furrowed, he was angry… Perhaps? Anger… Miles could deal with that at least._

_ "To a fault, even," Miles continued and raised an eyebrow._

_ "Well, maybe yeah, but…" Phoenix said—defensive? Or was it his bullish way of stumbling into the right direction. Phoenix was staring at the floor, arms still crossed. His voice was low and grave, but somehow—fragile. Miles put his head back slightly, maybe now Phoenix Wright would get the idea, and stop trying to be his friend._

_ "I think you changed too much, Edgeworth."_

* * *

Miles didn't want to deal with her after the trial. He was still reeling himself. He didn't even look at her as they got in the car. But he could hear her stifled sobbing and a muffled sniffle once in a while on the ride back to the flat. Her tears were like arrows—it was always like that—Miles didn't like it when she cried.

Wellington navigated the big black car onto the freeway and Miles turned his glare at Franziska.

"That won't change anything," he said coldly. He wasn't sure why the sentence handed down made him angry, but it did, and she was the only one around to receive his anger.

"He was my father, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said, "I have the right."

Miles glared out the window at the cars racing by and the sparkle of some mineral in the pale strip of road. She did have the right to mourn her father. It would be weeks, maybe even months before the sentence was carried out, but Manfred Von Karma was as good as dead.

So why did he feel so angry about it?

"I don't blame you Miles," Franziska said, "But I'm going to be upset."

Miles looked at her and she ran a hand over a tear-streaked cheek; he frowned.

"He hated crime," she said, "He did everything he could to be perfect in every way. To put those imperfect criminals away. He wanted to make the world a more perfect place—you saw that, didn't you?"

Miles didn't want to talk about it. Anything he wanted to say—anything he could say would only upset her more. He didn't want to start another argument.

He could feel Franziska's stare on him—sidelong and probably disappointed at his reticence—but Miles didn't have the emotional strength to comfort her and maintain his own composure. He was flying out tonight—he didn't need anyone else to see him lose composure.

She didn't speak again until the car slowed and Wellington got onto the ramp. By then she'd manage to reign herself in and she stared out of the window as coldly as he was, those Von Karma eyes icy and determined. Finally she poked him in the arm.

"Little brother," she said, "How long will you be gone?"

"Just two nights," Miles said, "We'll have to drive back if we manage to make the arrest."

"I don't know why you have to go. You're not a policeman."

"It's my case, I have to file the Indictment and the request for Extradition at the court there. We don't have much time—the police in Nevada, can't hold him very much longer."

"Why can't I stay with my friends?"

"Is that what this is about?"

She didn't answer and Miles rounded on her with one of his stone cold glares. She pushed in closer to the car door and glared back. After a while Miles looked away, he didn't have much patience right now.

"Will you bring me a present from Las Vegas?" Franziska said.

Miles smirked and turned back to the window, "We'll see."

Wellington offered to join him in the stairwell but Miles declined and waited until the elevator swallowed Franziska and his butler. He started up the stairs slowly, his mind was heavy and the gravity of the trial and the sentence seemed a physical weight on his being. It was enough to find each step—one two one two—three to cross the landing. The sound of his own shoes echoed somberly around him.

Miles nearly tripped on the top step of the fifth floor landing and he paused. Miles sat on the top step and hugged himself against the sudden wave of emotion. This was stupid. He should be happy about the outcome.

He sat there for several minutes—glad that no one else really used the stairs above the third floor. He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his head in them. He felt foolish. Foolish and relieved. His phone buzzed in his pocket and Miles chose to let it ring.

It kept ringing. There was a pause and a tone telling him the call went to voicemail. After a few seconds it started buzzing again. On the third or fourth ring he answered the phone and put it to his head, not bothering to check the caller id.

"What do you want!" he shouted into the phone.

"Um… Edgeworth it's me," Phoenix Wright said, "It's an emergency."

"So why are you calling me? You know about 9-1-1, I'm sure?"

"Not that kind of emergency—"

"Then you can hardly call it an emergency!"

"Um…," Phoenix sounded uncertain suddenly, "Hey Edgeworth? What's up? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Miles said.

"You sound stuffy—are you—?"

"I'm fine—you know I have allergies—you and Larry used to make fun—"

"Dude, it's January, what could you possibly allergic to?"

"Dust," Miles wiped his face, embarrassed at being caught—thankful that Phoenix couldn't see him, "What the hell do you want, Wright?"

"Wow, you're in a bad mood…" Phoenix said, "You said I could call you if something happened with… You know that…"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miles said pinching the bridge of his nose; his head was starting to hurt.

"Edgeworth really!? How could you forget?"

"Just speak plain, Wright," Miles said forcefully, "Or I'll just hang up."

"Well," Phoenix was hesitant, "The—um, the Phoenix Wright School of Defense."

Miles had to wrack his brain for a moment, "What happened?"

"I told you I was going to meet the boss—"

"Did you?"

"Um, that's what I wanted to call you about…"

"Who was—"

"It was you," Phoenix said and Miles immediately felt a rise in his ire, "At least I thought—"

"I've been in court since nine this morning—I just got home. I told you—"

"Well, how do I know you didn't just tell me that so I wouldn't sus—"

"You're being stupid, Wright. Call me back when you've rediscovered reason."

"Wait!" Phoenix said; Miles already had his thumb hovering above the 'end call' button.

"What?" He said.

"It's late," Phoenix said, "But do you want to meet me for lunch?"

"Why?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this on the phone."

Miles hesitated, forehead resting in the palm of his other hand. He didn't have a lot of time—but it was a late flight. This might be an interesting distraction.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix sounded a little desperate on the phone.

"Fine, what time is it now?"

"Just after three…"

"Where?"

"Um… I don't know—How about That Burger Joint?"

"What burger joint?"

"No, that's the name of the place, 'That Burger Joint', it's around the corner from the district courthouse—Maya—"

"Fine, I'll meet you in front of the courthouse around four…"

"I guess it's not really lunch anymore…"

"What difference does it make?"

"It doesn't. I'll see you at four then," Phoenix said.

"Fine."

Miles hung up the phone and sighed then he stood and jogged up the stairs to his floor. Franziska was standing in the corridor when he exited the stairwell.

"What happened?" She seemed anxious and her voice quavered a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"It took you almost half-an-hour to get up the stairs," Franziska crossed her arms and made an impatient face at him.

"I got a phone call half-way up," Miles said.

"Who was it?"

"Nobody," Miles said curtly as he led her into the flat, "Are you packed?"

"Are we leaving already?"

"I have to take care of something at the courthouse—I'm going directly to the Airport afterward."

"Miles!" Franziska said, "Why—"

"Franziska," Miles paused and turned to look at her. He cupped her face in his palm, "Just do as you're told. We'll take some personal time when I get back from Nevada."

"You make stupid promises—just like he did!"

Miles was shocked and she turned and stormed off before he could comment on her outburst—well—all this could wait until he got back.

Wellington had made all the arrangements for him—and Miles was relieved to find his packing mostly complete. He added a few more items to the well-worn leather carry on and then dressed down from his morning at court. Miles shouldered the bag and went back out toward the main room. Franziska was still in the guestroom—no doubt over-packing for her two-night stay.

Miles picked up the receiver on the house phone and dialed a number on the old-fashioned rotary phone.

"This is Edgeworth," he said when the line picked up, "Hello."

"How did it go?"

"Fine," Miles said, "We're still meeting at the airport at seven?"

"Yes, did something come up?"

"No, nothing at all," Miles tucked the receiver under his chin and picked up the memo pad and pen, "Would it be a problem if I brought Franziska by early?"

"Not at all. We could get to know each other."

"I have to meet someone, here in a bit," Miles said checking his watch, "I was going to drop by on the way. Will that be a problem?"

"No, I'm a little surprised, but she can come now."

"Thanks, Chief," Miles said and he jotted down the address she passed over the phone.

Miles hung up and went to collect Franziska.

* * *

_"My name is Edgeworth," Miles said offering a hand to the surprisingly young District Chief Prosecutor, "Miles, if you'd rather…"_

_ "Pleasure to meet you Mister Edgeworth," she was curt and the strength of her handshake seemed forced. She motioned for him to sit down._

_ "I remember you from the Darke trial," she said._

_ Miles frowned, "I see."_

_ Lana Skye had just come over from a similar position in the police department, so she had very little experience as a prosecutor when she found herself in charge of the district's prosecutors._

_ "You're a remarkable young man, Edgeworth," she said and Miles raised an eyebrow; she was only a few years older than he was._

_ "Detective Gant and I were both very pleased with your handling of the Darke case in court," she continued. Miles was certainly put off by her stony façade; she didn't seem the type. Miles only nodded._

_ "Are you shy, then? I never would've thought—" she started._

_ "Ah—no, Chief," Miles said, "I just…" he just had nothing to add, "I was just doing my job, Chief."_

_ She smiled at him, but the stony set of her eyes never softened, "Let's hope you keep doing your job, then."_

_ Miles leaned back in his chair. There was more than one senior prosecutor upset at her appointment. Standing out among them was Mister Von Karma himself. Von Karma liked to refer to her as the 'imbed', a plant from the police department coordinated by the new police Chief Damon Gant in order to gain a foothold in the DA office. Miles didn't care about things like that—but then, he was just starting out._

_ "The main reason I called you in here," she said, "was to get to know you."_

_ Miles only stared grimly at her, his eyes narrowed slightly more than usual._

_ "I want to get to know all of the prosecutors in this district—I'm new to this office—and I imagine there are already a lot of rumors about me and my appointment."_

_ Miles crossed his arms; "I never placed much stock in rumors, Chief."_

_ "How long have you been with this district, Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles was startled at the question, "Long enough, I should think."_

_ "Ah…" Chief said, "In your opinion, are things running as they should be?"_

_ "I don't have an opinion or comment in that regard. If you have a question about that perhaps you should ask the High Prosecutor—Manfred Von Karma. I'm only here to do my job."_

_ "You're too young to be so serious…" she said almost inaudibly._

_ "I'm sorry, Chief?" Miles said._

_ "Nothing," she said, "Mister Von Karma refuses to interview with me."_

_ Miles smirked, "I imagine you've usurped his authority—sorry, that was out of line, Chief. Mister Von Karma is quite possibly the best prosecutor in the world, right now. He's a god among prosecutors. If there's anything you'd want to learn, he's the one you need to talk to."_

_ "Yeah, but—"_

_ "Don't worry, Chief," Miles said, "I'm quite sure he'll warm up to you."_

_ "Do you feel like there's rivalry or mistrust between our departments?"_

_ "I don't feel comfortable offering my opinion on the matter," Miles said, "However, thanks to Mister Von Karma's influence in this district—I think there's a certain level of understanding. After all, we are both working to put away criminals."_

_ "I feel like you trust us," Chief Skye said, "I think that trust was certainly tested in the Darke Trial, but you did your job and got the conviction in the end."_

_ Miles looked at her, confused. Her icy gaze seemed to melt suddenly and she leaned forward to peer into his face._

_ "Oh," she said, "You have pretty eyes, Edgeworth."_

_ Miles leaned back and blinked at her, "Huh?"_

_ "Your eyes, are they hazel or green?"_

_ Miles frowned, "My eyes are gray—it's merely a trick of the light. I, um, if we're finished here, Chief, I still have work to do."_

_ "Right," she said going cold again, "Do you think you could talk to Von Karma for me? You're close to him aren't you?"_

_ Miles frowned. He was not any closer to Von Karma than any other prosecutor. At least that's how it seemed to stand lately._

_ "I'll see if I can help, Chief," Miles said finally._

_ "Thank you Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "You are dismissed. Have a good day."_

* * *

Miles glared at Phoenix from across the table and busied his hands with tearing the cheap paper napkins from the napkin dispenser into strips. Phoenix was slouched in his seat and frowning.

"I could've sworn it was you…" he said again.

Miles made an impatient noise and pulled another napkin out of the dispenser.

"You were with me all night last night going through the testimony from the Hammond trial… Why would anyone go so far to flesh out a ruse?"

"I don't know," Phoenix said, "Someone like you thinks of everything, right? How do I know it wasn't part of your ruse?"

"I'm sure the trial this morning will be in the paper tomorrow," Miles swallowed, "Von Karma was a pretty well-known prosecutor."

"He had on a pink suit like yours—"

"It's not pink!"

"Whatever—and his hair was exactly like yours. The only difference were his glasses—"

"Glasses?"

"Yeah, and he had on a false nose and moustache—like Groucho Marx…" Phoenix grinned sheepishly at him, "I wondered why you'd pick such a flimsy disguise."

"Groucho Marx?"

Phoenix shrugged, "He had a cravat too, and a scar on his belly, right under his belly button."

"You saw him shirtless?"

"Um… It wasn't like that—he was trying to slam a chair on me. When he lifted it over his head his shirt came un-tucked and I saw that scar."

Miles stared at Phoenix silently for a moment. What? Was he going to elaborate?

"It wasn't me," Miles said finally.

"Well, then you have a doppelganger."

"I'm an only child," Miles said, "I'm sure I don't have any evil twins running around."

"How can we be sure this twin is the evil one?"

"I'm leaving," Miles said and he started to slide out of the booth, "I can't believe you would waste my time with this—but then maybe I'm the idiot for thinking Phoenix Wright would have something better to do than waste time..."

"Hey," Phoenix grabbed Miles' sleeve, "Just sit back down. I'm just telling you what I saw. Just prove that it wasn't you and I'll believe you."

"Are you serious?" Miles said, "How am I supposed to do that?"

Phoenix had a cheap pair of joke glasses complete with nose and mustache in front of him on the table; he pushed them toward Miles, "Put these on."

"I will not!" Miles said, "So stop asking!"

"You're being awfully suspicious," Phoenix said.

"Anyone can put on clothes like mine, Wright. I'm not exactly an unknown in this town," Miles crossed his arms, "I don't have a scar on my belly, either."

"So show me," Phoenix said.

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you? I thought you were my friend, and then I find that you're using my name to influence all the defense attorneys in the greater—"

"Why would I do that?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out!" Phoenix stared at him; he had a kicked puppy look on his face. Miles frowned at him.

"I have bigger issues to contend with… I promise you, I'm not running some underground defense lawyer society—I simply don't have time for such frivolity."

"Then show me the scar."

"I don't have a scar."

"Prove it!"

"Why!?"

"I have to know for sure…" Phoenix said, "There's been way too much weird crap going on lately… I don't even know who to trust anymore—you're my friend. I thought you were… But after this morning—"

"Damn you, Wright," Miles said. But he stood and pulled up the layers of his clothing to show Phoenix his belly button. Phoenix looked surprised, but he leaned forward to examine Miles' belly. Miles covered himself up suddenly and sat down, he was sure his ears were red—they pricked with heat.

"Satisfied?" Miles said and took another napkin from the dispenser for good measure.

Phoenix was looking at him with what could only be described as awe—Miles felt his face heat up too.

"Whoa…" Phoenix said, "Okay, it wasn't you. Hey, do you work out? You're pretty fit."

"Don't mock me," Miles said tearing another strip from the napkin.

"I wasn't—anyway," Phoenix said, "I just wanted to make sure."

"I don't know why you'd think I'd lie about something trivial like that."

"You really ought to get more sun," Phoenix said.

"It's January," Miles pointed out.

"Anyway," Phoenix said, "This other guy had a lot more belly."

"He was fat?"

"No—well," Phoenix said, "I mean he looked exactly like you—but he had kind of a beer belly… Okay... He was pretty fat."

"You think I look fat?"

"No," Phoenix said, "In fact you… Well, I mean, it was an easy mistake."

"Do you think maybe you're confusing me with Marvin Grossberg?"

"Um," Phoenix paused thoughtfully, "Well, it was kind of dark… And Edgeworth, you do look huge in the courtroom."

"Sure, whatever," Miles said and he put his head down in his hands, "You think Mister Grossberg is running this—"

"He wouldn't," Phoenix said, "He was Mia's mentor. Plus I never heard that old familiar clearing of the throat. And the hair, it doesn't explain the hair."

"You need to do more research, Wright…" Miles said glaring at him, "Do you even have a name?"

"Um…"

"Not even an alias?"

"His alias was 'Miles Edgeworth'," Phoenix said, "You should come with me next time—"

"You realize I am a busy person, don't you? I work for the city, I don't have the option to be idle on a whim."

"I'm not being idle," Phoenix said defensively.

Miles glared at him for several moments, "Yes you are."

Phoenix looked away from him and stared down at the menu neglected on the table, "I'm hungry—aren't you hungry? We should order."

Miles made a face at him, "I don't want anything."

"Come on, it's on me…"

"BLT," Miles said, "They don't make anything like that—"

"I got it," Phoenix said and he gave Miles a cocky, crooked smile before waving over the waitress.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"I don't want ice cream," Miles grimaced at Phoenix, "You said I look like Mister Grossberg—obviously I don't need ice cream."

"I don't think it was him," Phoenix said, "But that guy this morning definitely looked like you—and he was trying very hard to make me believe it was you."

"I have an idea Wright," Miles said, "I'm flying to Las Vegas tonight—"

"Vegas? What are you going to—"

"It's not what you think—we're trying to extradite a suspect—I can't talk about this with you… Well, I'll be gone tonight and tomorrow night too. I don't expect to get back in town before the 20th…"

"Okay," Phoenix said, "But what does this have to do with milkshakes? I think we should get milkshakes."

"Stop interrupting me with—"

"I'm wasting away while we sit here," Phoenix said.

Miles leaned forward and grabbed his tie, "If you want my help, listen and stop being silly. Contact this person. Try to meet with him on the 19th—tomorrow at sometime. I'll be out of town. See if you can get any more information out of him."

"Fine," Phoenix dropped back into his seat when Miles let him go and made a show of fixing his tie, "You don't have to be a jerk."

"Sometimes, Wright," Miles said, "You leave me no choice."

"Hey there, Nick," they both startled when the waitress arrived, "Where's that little darling, Maya?"

"Oh, um," Phoenix said, "She's back in her home village—she's training."

"Training?" the waitress said. She filled out the yellow waitress smock in a way that made Miles wonder if Phoenix was really interested in the food at the place. She smiled at Miles and he almost blushed—almost.

"Maya's training to be a full-on spirit medium," Phoenix said.

"Oh, yeah," she said and she shook her head so that the copper ringlets held out of the way with too many barrettes caught the light, "I think she talked about that last time. If you hear from her tell her I said 'Hi'."

"Sure thing," Phoenix said.

"So who's your friend, Nick?"

"Oh," Phoenix said as if he'd only just noticed Miles sitting there, "That's just Edgeworth… Miles Edgeworth… Edgeworth, this is January."

Miles nodded in greeting but said nothing. He didn't come out to meet waitresses in kitschy restaurants.

"Ooh…" January said, "The strong, silent type…"

"Eh," Phoenix said, "He's in a bad mood."

"I'm sorry to hear that Mister Edgeworth," she said not a little suggestively. Miles gave her a sidelong glance and made a derisive noise.

"So, Nick," January said, "The usual?"

"Yeah, and a strawberry milkshake," Phoenix said.

"And Mister Edgeworth?"

"BLT," Miles said.

"What's that?" January said.

"Double bacon cheeseburger on toast. Hold the cheese and the burgers," Phoenix said. January grinned, Miles looked confused.

"What a lame kind of sandwich," January said as she jotted it down on her note pad, "Anything else?"

"He wants a milkshake too," Phoenix said.

"No I don't," Miles said.

"Aww, Mister Edgeworth," January said shifting her stance and putting a hand on a jaunty hip, "We have the best milkshakes in town!"

"I'm sure every place that makes a milkshake says the same thing," Miles muttered.

"Hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix said, "When was the last time you had a milkshake?"

Miles glared at him, "Before my father died."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "No wonder you hate life…"

"I don't hate—"

"Will a milkshake bring back painful memories?" January cooed at him and Miles clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

"No! I just don't eat milkshakes!" Miles said—exasperated now, "Why can't you people—"

"Edgeworth," Phoenix said throwing his head back and shooting a pompous smirk at him, "You don't eat milkshakes—you drink them."

"Fine!" Miles said, "I want a milkshake."

"What kind?" January said.

Miles glared at her and then Phoenix. He just wanted to eat something and they were dragging this out over milkshakes. Miles crossed his arms.

"Give me a white one."

"Do you mean Vanilla? Or banana? We also make cookies'n'cream," January said.

Miles rubbed his face wearily, "Surprise me."

January winked at him, "Okay," as she turned to put in their order she paused and leaned in slightly toward him, "Later, if you stick around, I can show you another kind of milkshake."

She giggled and walked away swinging her hips as if she was on the catwalk and not a cheesy burger joint. Miles looked up at Phoenix bewildered. Phoenix was glaring at him slack jawed and brows furrowed.

"If there are other milkshakes," Miles said, "Why would she—"

"What the hell, man?"

"What?"

"I've been coming here for eight months—eight months of feeding Maya over-priced burgers, just so I could… And she's fawning over you in forty-five minutes."

Miles blushed, "Is 'milkshake' an innuendo?"

"What do you think?"

Miles turned to look in the direction January had gone, "She's not bad looking…"

"I hate you," Phoenix said shaking his head.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! PW:AA is copyright by CAPCOM. The dialogue from the first flashback is from the game.**_

_A little Phoenix to brighten your day—the last couple chapters were very angsty…_

_I still don't know what 'milkshake' is supposed to be an innuendo for..._


	25. Welcome to Fabulous

**Chapter 25**

**Welcome to Fabulous**

_"Mister Tailor?" Miles looked hopefully at him as he waited at the window to receive the rest of his personal effects._

_ "Please, sport," the man said wearily, "Max is fine."_

_ Max Tailor joined him outside of the detention center though neither of them said anything as they walked toward the parking lot. Miles saw Wellington standing near the black Lincoln and felt relieved that he'd have an excuse not to join Max Tailor for drinks or dinner or whatever the man was plotting._

_ Miles stopped walking and turned to him and Max paused, startled at the sudden change in movement, "Mister Tailor, sir," Miles began._

_ "Please, sport—" Max started to repeat his earlier statement._

_ "Why are you here?" Miles said, "Didn't she tell you that—"_

_ "Maddy doesn't—she's just an excitable girl—certainly you know that by now?"_

_ "Sir?" Miles said, "I don't follow…"_

_ "I'm sure," Max said, "Now that you've been acquitted—beyond a reasonable doubt—I'm sure that we can persuade her to change her mind about—"_

_ Miles didn't know how to reply at first, and he hesitated before he said, "I don't think I can marry a woman that doesn't trust me enough to—"_

_ "She panicked, Miles," Max said suddenly pleading, "Please, dear fellow, just talk to her. She'll see reason. She'll come around. Since your arrest she's gone completely bat—"_

_ "Mister Tailor," Miles said, "I've had a lot of time to think while I was in detention… And I'm quite resolved in my position on the matter."_

_ "Miles," Max said, "She's run off to New York—with a musician… You have to talk some sense into her, please."_

_ "What musician?" Miles couldn't help his rising anger—even though they'd been broken up for three days—he didn't think there was another man._

_ "He's the lead singer in some rock and roll band—I don't know," Max said, "She's only gone off because she's not thinking straight. I know if you—"_

_ "Mister Tailor," Miles said._

_ "Please, sport. Max—"_

_ "Max," Miles turned his head so he could look at Wellington, "She's old enough to decide what she wants…"_

_ Max only frowned in reply. Miles offered a hand and the man took it reluctantly._

_ "I am glad you were acquitted," Max said, "Not that I doubted your innocence, mind you. I'm glad everything worked out in your favor."_

_ Miles only nodded and broke off their handshake. He turned to leave, "Good night, Mister Tailor."_

_ "I suppose it's difficult for you, Miles," Max said. Miles paused in his departure and turned to look at the man._

_ "I suppose you're wanting some time to yourself," Max continued. Miles nodded slowly, unsure of Max's intention._

_ "When you've come round then, sport," Max said, "Please forgive her. You and Maddy are a good match—even she doesn't fully appreciate it."_

_ Miles frowned at Mister Tailor and after several moments' hesitation; he nodded and left to meet Wellington at the Lincoln. If he never saw Madeline Tailor again, it would be too soon._

* * *

Miles pulled into a covered parking space and entered the high-rise apartment building. He stopped at the call box and looked for Lana's name before pushing the button.

"Hello? Skye residence," the box squeaked out an adolescent girl's voice.

"It's Edgeworth," Miles said, "Is Chief Skye ready?"

"She's in her room," the box squeaked back, "Do you want to come up?"

Miles groaned inwardly. Lana Skye lived on the seventeenth floor.

"Ah," Miles began.

"Miles Edgeworth is that you?" Franziska's voice fizzled out of the call box, "Stop being lazy and come up here!"

"Franziska, I—"

"Miles don't you dare leave here without telling me goodbye in person," Franziska said.

"Fine," Miles said, "Give me a few minutes."

Miles muttered under his breath as he walked past the elevator and opened the door to the stairwell. He looked up into the narrow flights with a frown. The stairs were poorly lit and dirty. Miles started to jog up the stairs.

He made it all the way to the landing on the fourteenth floor before he paused to catch his breath. Maybe he should see a doctor about this elevator phobia. Sometimes things got a little ridiculous. Miles took the last three flights at a steadier pace, no sense in letting Chief see him disheveled and breathless.

When he opened the door Franziska was standing in the corridor with another teenaged girl.

"Miles," Franziska said, "Are you really going to make me stay here the whole time you're—"

"Don't start," Miles said brushing past the girls toward Chief Skye's apartment. The two girls followed him.

"Mister Edgeworth," the other girl said, "Are you going to be traveling with Air Marshals? They're the only ones allowed to carry guns on the plane."

"I'm not going to babysit while I'm on vacatio—"

"I don't need a babysitter! My sis let's me—"

"Plus this girl is very strange. Lana's okay but—"

"Well you're rude, you know that? You're the one who—"

"Don't condescend me you foolish little—"

Miles stopped walking and the two of them stopped arguing. He hesitated for a moment and then continued walking.

"Little brother," Franziska said to his back, "Why can't I come with—"

"It's scientifically impossible for you to be—"

Miles stopped again. He didn't turn to look at the girls.

"Franziska," he said quietly, "and you, other girl—"

"Ema," Ema said.

"Right," Miles said, "Both of you just be quiet. Please."

"Edgeworth," Chief Skye came out of her apartment dragging a wheeled carryon bag, she smiled sweetly, "I see the girls buzzed you up already…"

"Yes," Miles said, a little curtly, "I hope Franziska hasn't made a bad impression?"

"Not at all," Chief Skye said, "I look forward to having her onboard soon, right Miss Von Karma?"

Miles made a face, but he hid it with a nod and politely motioned to take Chief Skye's bag. She started to protest but he took the bag and turned toward the stairs. Franziska tackled him into the wall and he was about to shout at her but was shocked to see her expression. She squeezed him all the more tightly in her iron grasp.

"You're being silly, I'm only going to be gone for the—"

"Miles," Franziska said, "If I don't tell you goodbye properly, and something happens to you…"

Miles frowned and looked up to find Chief and her little sister standing in the doorway of the apartment pretending to ignore them. He felt not a little dismayed at Franziska's display and cleared his throat pointedly.

"Please let go of me Franziska," he scolded her, "You like to remind me that you are not a child, so please don't do childish—"

Franziska burst into tears and Miles pulled away from her, shocked and horrified.

"That's… that… was… the… same… thing… he… said to me… this… morning," she sobbed and Miles stared, dumbfounded. After several moments, he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and offered it to her. He looked up to see Chief ushering her little sister back into the apartment to give them some privacy.

"He-he said… that ex-exactly," Franziska paused to blow her nose.

Miles put an arm over her shoulder and leaned in to talk to her quietly, "I'm only going to take care of this thing, I won't be gone long. There's nothing to be upset over…"

"I'm not!" Franziska said rather loudly, she still hadn't regained her composure, "I don't care where you go brother. I don't care what you do. But I wish you didn't act as if nothing happened. My father is going to be in prison for the rest of his life! Don't you feel anything—"

"Franziska, please," Miles said and he stood and put a hand to his temple, "I know the timing is poor, but the world doesn't—"

"I don't care about the world! I need you—someone to… to…"

Her tears seemed to start afresh and Miles sighed audibly in exasperation.

"You're exactly like him," she muttered, "Always work… Work is more important than—"

"I don't have a choice in thi—"

"Don't you?" she said, "Lana is a prosecutor too isn't she? She can—"

"When I get back, Franziska," Miles said, "We'll take some time to—"

"Will you visit him? We can go together and—"

"Okay," Miles said—mostly to placate her. Hopefully the old man would be sent upstate before he got back—it was much easier to find excuses not to take a long drive. She relented, finally, and Miles hesitated—waiting for the last of her sobs to subside.

"Now, get in there, I'm going to be late," he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the apartment.

Chief Skye had the courtesy not to comment on Franziska's emotional state as they made their way down the stairs together—though she did make a quip under her breath about his fear of elevators. Miles felt his ears go warm, but he pretended he didn't hear her.

The plane landed at McCarran International just after nine that evening and after a bit of wrangling at the baggage claim the party met at the cab stand outside the arrivals exit. Miles was relieved to learn that Dr. Young had come on her own in an earlier flight—though she would be staying at the same hotel. Officer Marshal, Officer Prince, as well as Detective Goodman from the police department and he and Lana Skye from the District Attorney's Office, would all be staying at the Hooters resort of all places—mostly because it was off the strip and nearest to the precinct they would be visiting once he secured the paperwork needed for extradition. Miles stood apart from the group—Marshall was telling another lewd joke that Goodman and Prince were simply too nice not to laugh at. Chief Skye was also watching the policemen with a slight frown, and made no effort to invade Miles' thoughts.

He flew often and often flew far—but no matter how long—or short—the flight, it always seemed he'd been flying forever. It was early still, but he felt travel weary and looked forward to getting away from the group.

They ended up taking separate shuttles to the hotel and regrouped at the check in counter. Miles frowned as he spotted Dr. Young bounding through the crowd to greet them.

"Hello!" she said, "You guys came in pretty late didn't you? I've already had time to get a mani-pedi and hang out by the pool all day."

Marshall looked at her and smiled a crooked mischievous smile, Miles turned and stared hard at the check-in counter to avoid her. The pool? In January?

"Well, hello little missy," Marshall thumbed his ridiculous hat in greeting, "Don't recollect that I've had the pleasure—"

"Doctor Young," Chief Skye interrupted, "How was your flight? Have you spoken with the anyone from the court yet?"

"Well," Dr. Young said, "I was waiting for you. I don't even know if we're going to be able to transfer this person, so I didn't feel it was my call. Miles Edgeworth, how are you?"

"Well," Miles said curtly; he didn't bother to turn and look at her.

"I guess some people get grumpy when they fly," Dr. Young said.

"Don't mind him, Missy," Marshall said, "That young buckaroo ain't nothing if he ain't sore over some triflin' thing. How's about you come talk to me?"

"Who are you?" Dr. Young said.

"Marshall," Chief Skye said, "This is Doctor Chihiro Young, she's here to perform CST if we get the extradition worked out."

Marshall grinned again, "Ah… A medicine woman…"

"Doctor," Chief Skye said, "Detective Goodman is here to make the arrest and Officer Marshall and Officer Prince are here to assist. Prosecutor Edgeworth is here to file for extradition—so you can see, we have a lot of moving parts and a lot of things that all have to go right in one day for this to work out."

"I see," Dr. Young said, "So the only one who has to wake up early is Edgeworth?"

Miles made a noise in his throat at her comment, but was distracted by the clerk at the counter.

"How many?" the clerk asked when Miles showed him the reservation confirmations.

"Five," Miles said.

"You have two rooms for the police department and one room for the district attorney," the clerk slapped the keys on the keyboard and nodded, "Yep, that's what I have here…"

Miles turned from the counter and looked at Chief Skye. She smiled and gave a slight shrug. Miles frowned at the clerk, "I suppose I can share with one of the policemen."

"He ain't staying with me," Marshall chimed in, "Bruce you're taking one for the team."

Detective Goodman only shrugged and Miles nodded at the clerk. Key cards were handed out and the clerk continued by laying out all the amenities the resort had to offer.

"You boys behave yourself," Chief Skye said and walked away with the doctor.

"Wait," Miles said before they'd gone far from the counter, "The nineteenth floor? Don't you have anything between the second and eighth?"

"I'm sorry sir," the clerk said, "We're booked. The elevators are over there."

"I can see the damn elevators…" Miles muttered under his breath.

Marshall started laughing as he and Prince headed toward the elevators. Miles looked up to see Detective Goodman standing beside him.

"You don't like elevators, do you, Prosecutor Edgeworth," Goodman said.

Miles only frowned, searching for the stairwell.

"They were talking about it at the precinct a few weeks back," Goodman continued.

"Well, it's true," Miles snapped, "There's something else you can have a laugh about."

He stomped toward the stairwell door, Goodman followed him without a word. Miles opened the door and looked up at the dank and poorly lit stairwell. The smell of stale cigarette smoke filled the narrow space.

"So why didn't you just share Chief Skye's room?" Goodman said.

Miles startled, he hadn't realized Goodman was still following him.

"It wouldn't be right," Miles entered the stairwell and started to climb the stairs briskly, "People might get the wrong idea, and she's my boss."

"Ah," Goodman said, trying hard to keep up with Miles on the stairs.

"You don't have to come up the stairs with me," Miles said. They paused on the fourth floor landing so Goodman could catch his breath.

"Why are you running?" Goodman panted, "What's the rush?"

Miles smiled a little at the detective, but he took the next several flights at a slower pace, "I guess I'm just used to it."

"I think if stair-climbing was an Olympic sport, you'd probably make the national team—at the very least," Goodman said; his breathing was still labored.

Miles laughed and paused again to wait for the detective, "I won't feel bad if you got off and took the elevator the rest of the way up."

"Am I slowing you down Edgeworth?" Goodman said defiantly, he passed Miles on the landing and started up the next flight without pause. Miles caught him up easily and stayed beside him. Goodman's pace was slow and tedious but Miles didn't want to seem rude.

"Why don't you like elevators?"

Miles frowned at the question, but gave no other reply.

"I don't like other people's cars, but that won't stop me from taking a cab or accepting a ride if it's convenient."

Miles leaned over and took Goodman's bag to ease the other man's labor, "It's more than a mere dislike."

"So it is true," the Detective said, "You really freak out in elevators."

Miles hesitated and then nodded. They trudged up the next couple flights in silence.

"Is it because of that incident when you were a kid?"

Miles didn't answer, but he frowned as the memories of his father's murder rose to the surface again. The silence seemed to grow heavy and palpable between them.

"Edgeworth!"

Miles was surprised to see Goodman had fallen behind again. The detective was paused on the landing a floor below and wiping his face with a handkerchief. Miles stopped and hesitated before going back down to wait beside the detective.

"Have you tried getting help for this… Phobia…? I can't imagine what it's like running up and down the stairs all the time…" Goodman said.

"One gets used to it," Miles said.

"Well yeah," Goodman said, "And I'm sure you have fantastic glutes—but it's not normal, kid. You aren't functioning like a normal human being."

"Human beings have been thriving long before elevators came about," Miles said.

"I'm sure the department will pay for it if you sought help," Goodman said.

Miles didn't reply, people did this to him all the time. It was no one's business but his own how he learned to cope. He didn't want advice, he didn't want help.

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth," Goodman said suddenly, "I don't mean to pry."

"Seventeen," Miles said, "We're almost there."

He all but jogged up the last three flights and entered the floor and was relieved to find their room near the stairwell door. Officer Prince was standing in the hallway frowning at the door with his hands in his pockets. His suitcase was still at his feet. He smiled genially at Miles and Miles nodded in greeting.

"Eh, Mister Prosecutor…?" Prince said.

"Is everything all right?" Miles said.

"Um, no, sir," Prince said, "Marshall said he forgot something in the lobby and he went back down to look. But he has both keys."

Miles shook his head and opened the door to the room he'd be sharing with Goodman. Miles still had both their bags and he paused to pick them up before motioning Prince inside. Goodman came out of the stairwell a moment later panting from the effort. He followed Edgeworth into the room and stared at Prince. The policeman was standing near the phone—just about to lift the receiver.

"What happened?" Goodman said.

"Nothing," Miles said.

"Something's going on here," Goodman said.

"Marshall's gone," Prince said, "He has the keys."

"Great," Goodman said, "We just got here too."

* * *

_"Prosecutor Edgeworth," Miles had just exited the courtroom following his first big trial. Mister Von Karma was standing beside him and he grunted disdainfully when she called. Miles paused and turned to find the caller._

_ "Mister Edgeworth!" Detective Skye was shoving through the crowds leading the star witness—a girl of thirteen._

_ "Detective Skye," Miles said in greeting._

_ "Detective, this is hardly the time or the place—" Mister Von Karma began. He looked aghast at the girl as she ran up to Miles and hugged him._

_ "Eh?" Miles said._

_ "What is the meaning of this? We haven't time for this foolishness! Edgeworth you win one case after all of your false starts—I'd hardly call this a reason to celebrate—"_

_ "I'm sorry," Detective Skye said, "Ema wanted to thank you."_

_ Edgeworth forced a smile and patted the girl on the head, "It's not necessary," he said and pulled away from her. Ema immediately joined her sister and took her hand._

_ "You're a hero," Detective Skye said, "You put that evil murderer away for good."_

_ Miles stared at the two of them, a little shocked at their reaction to the trial. Mister Von Karma took him roughly by the shoulder and shoved him toward the lobby doors._

_ "Don't do that, we can't let him get a big head about himself," Mister Von Karma said, "He's only won one trial yet. We're just glad he was finally able to finish one."_

_ Miles put his head down and frowned as he followed Mister Von Karma out of the courthouse._

_ "Edgeworth, that was a quick trial," Mister Von Karma said, "Quick and clean."_

_ Miles swallowed. There were doubts—carefully hidden doubts, but doubts none-the-less. "Mister Von Karma, there is something that was bothering me…"_

_ "Let it go, boy," Von Karma said without pausing in his stride toward the parking lot, "It's over now and you got your conviction—that's ALL that matters."_

_ "The evidence list was—"_

_ "What did I just say, Edgeworth?" Von Karma stopped walking and rounded on him, "Are you a detective, Miles Edgeworth?"_

_ "No sir," Miles said._

_ "So let the detectives do their job," Von Karma said, "You have to learn to trust them to do their jobs. You can't micromanage every aspect of a case. Your job is to present the case to the judge and convince him to make the right decision."_

_ "I'm glad that Darke was found guilty."_

_ "Good boy," Von Karma said and turned away and started toward the parking lot again, "You still have a lot to learn, Edgeworth."_

* * *

His phone rang again and Miles turned over in the hotel bed. He buried his head in the pillows. It buzzed as a message was sent. He pressed the pillow against his ears. Miles only wanted to sleep. Las Vegas was not his idea of a vacation spot. And they were not here on vacation.

Goodman had gone downstairs with Prince and Miles declined their invitation as emphatically as he knew how. He felt he'd made it perfectly clear that he only cared about getting the witness or possible suspect back to stand trial. That meant he had to be up early to attend the hearing on extradition. That also meant he did not want drinks or a late night.

His phone buzzed again. Miles reached over to see who was calling and almost blinded himself by the light of the touch screen. It was Phoenix Wright. Against his better judgment, Miles accepted the call.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Is this Miles Edgeworth?"

"Who else would it be? You called my phone!"

"Oh, hello," Phoenix said, "This is Phoenix Wright—"

"Wright, just tell me what you need or hang up," Miles said.

"I went to see Mister Grossberg today, after you left."

"And…?"

"It wasn't him," Phoenix said, "Grossberg is way fatter than you—so you don't have to feel bad about that either."

"Did he have anything important to say?"

"Who?"

"Wright I'm going to hang up," Miles swung his thumb so it hovered over the 'end call' button.

"Oh, yeah," Phoenix said, "Um. He's never heard of anything like this. He says there's no way anyone would want to emulate me because I'm just a 'rookie' and even if there were people wanting to do so, he didn't think it was sinister."

"But you wouldn't accept the same advice from me?"

"Edgeworth, you're my age and you don't have an epic wise-man mustache like Grossberg does…"

"Umm… Right…"

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm thinking—are you going to try to meet with this head—"

"No way," Phoenix said, "I'll wait until you get back. You need to come with me."

"No," Edgeworth said, "I have a big case going to trial soon."

"Make time, Edgeworth," Phoenix said.

"Look, you little twerp—" Phoenix hung up on him.

Miles grumbled and set his phone back on the nightstand—it was serving as his alarm as well. It buzzed another message before he could pull his hand away.

"You should come downstairs to the Mad Onion," this was from Chihiro.

Miles frowned and put the phone facedown on the nightstand. He'd only just settled back down to sleep when the phone buzzed again. Miles turned his back toward the night stand and let the phone buzz three or four times more before checking the screen.

The latest message said 'Please call if you get this' it was from Chief Skye. Miles groaned and sat up to dial her number.

"Miles?" Chief Skye said.

"Yes, Chief," Miles said without bothering to curb any annoyance in his voice.

"You need to come downstairs… Goodman… Well, he and Marshall were down here, Prince is taking Marshall up right now, but I need you to help me with Goodman."

Miles swallowed, "Chief… Elevator…"

"You can run down the stairs Edgeworth," Chief Skye said.

"Yes sir," Miles said, he was already leaving the room, "But I don't think I can carry him—not up nineteen—"

"Just get down here Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "I don't want anyone outside of the department involved."

"Right," Miles said and he hung up and entered the stairwell. He took the stairs three and four at a time and managed to make it to the lobby floor quickly. He only tripped once—somewhere near the seventh floor—because he wasn't wearing socks in his shoes.

He exited the stairwell only slightly winded from his dash down the stairs and found Chief Skye standing in the lobby wearing fuzzy pink fleece pants with what looked like smiley faces with weird hair and a blue badger sweatshirt. So she had the same plan he'd had.

She smiled at him like nothing was amiss and jerked her head for him to follow her. She led him to a dark corner of the lobby where several plants hid Goodman from view. He had a bruise across his cheek and was barely coherent.

"What—" Miles started to ask, but Chief Skye put a finger to her lips to silence him.

Miles leaned down and took the detective by the arm which he draped over his own shoulder. He put his other arm around the detective's chest and pulled him upright.

"Edgeworth?" Goodman muttered under his breath and dropped out again. Miles frowned, but he didn't say anything as Chief Skye led him toward the elevators.

She hit the call button and Miles watched as the car lit up and slid down toward them. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He looked at Chief a little pleadingly and he could feel his hands grow slippery with sweat. The car dinged on its arrival and the doors whooshed open invitingly. Chief Sky stepped inside and Miles followed with Goodman. He settled the semi-concious detective on the elevator floor in a slumped seated position and started to back out of the elevator. The doors closed behind him. Miles scrabbled for the button pad and hit the 'doors open' button. His breath was already coming in short panicked bursts.

"What are you afraid of, Miles Edgeworth?"

"Chief, you know I—"

"But it's not even moving," She said.

Miles didn't respond—she was right—and he didn't want to keep sounding like a frightened little boy. Not in front of Chief Skye.

"So…" Miles said, "What now?"

"What floor are you on?"

Miles could only shake his head. He was standing in front of the buttons, so she wouldn't be able to force him to ride up in the death car like Chief Gant had done.

"Miles?" Chief Skye looked at him, "What floor?"

"Nineteen," Miles said, but he refused to move out of her way—he couldn't move out of the way. If he did that she'd hit the button and he would be trapped. The doors started to close again and he turned to hold them open.

"The elevator is only dangerous when it's moving, right?" Chief Skye said.

Miles bit his lip—no one ever understood this. He'd had this phobia since he was nine. Whatever solution to the problem he'd already tried it. What made them think he'd never tried?

"It won't work," Miles said finally, "Nothing works—I can't do this—"

"You can't have tried everything," Chief Skye said.

"Please," Miles said, "Just wait up there, and I'll take the stairs. I can get up the stairs pretty fast."

"You just need a distraction," Chief Skye said.

"It won't work," Miles repeated.

Chief Skye didn't say anything to him, she just stared. Miles let the door close behind him and he stared at the wall to avoid her gaze.

"Miles," Chief Skye said, "You push the number. You're in control."

"It won't work," Miles said again, a little more loudly—as if that would bring it home to her. He clenched and unclenched his jaw in silence.

"Miles…" Chief Skye said.

"I lived with Prosecutor Von Karma," Miles said, "Don't you think he thought of this as a weakness? Don't you think he would have tried to beat it out of me? It won't work. Nothing has ever worked."

"What did Von Karma make you do?"

"What do you think? He made me ride on the elevator," Miles shook his head again and ran a hand through his hair, "I can't do this."

"I think you can," Chief Skye said.

Suddenly the lights went out.

"Oh," Chief Skye said.

"Oh Hell no," Miles said.

"Mmmphf," Goodman said.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! 'Give us your dreamers, your harlots and your sin…' **_

_Ah… Las Vegas… So tempting to do some version of the Hangover—LOL! But that would've taken this story down an irrelevant tangent… Sorry for the long wait... I got busy. I plan to go back and add a little more to ch 24 and clean up everything between 16-24 as well. UPDATE I added a bit to ch 24 and cleaned up chapters 16-24 too... Chapter 26 is well on the way!_


	26. A Minor Distraction

**Chapter 26**

**A Minor Distraction**

_Miles stood and stared at the smooth brushed steel doors of the courthouse elevator. There was tape on the small glass window—had it been replaced? Miles couldn't remember. It was too much to try and think about all at once._

_ "Just push the call button, boy," Mister Von Karma said. He sounded distracted—indeed, they had just come from the courthouse records room, and Mister Von Karma had a stack of folders under his arm. He stood next to Miles and looked down on the boy with a small smile. Miles shuddered slightly and pushed the call button._

_ Mister Von Karma was creepy even when he trying to be nice._

_ The elevator dinged and the doors opened with something like a sigh. Miles jerked his hands out of his pockets and brought them up toward his chest. For a moment there was blood in those shadows—his father's blood. Mister Von Karma gave him a nudge on the shoulder to stir him into walking forward, but Miles didn't move._

_ "What is it? I have a meeting upstairs—we mustn't be late, after all."_

_ Miles took a deep breath and stepped into the car. It was empty. The light overhead was warm and cheery. Miles watched as Mister Von Karma followed him in and then paused to read the button panel. Miles took a deep breath; he'd been on this elevator before._

_ Mister Von Karma punched a button and then stood back. Miles mimicked him bravely—and then the car lurched into motion. Miles was afraid. So he screamed._

_ They'd only gone up three floors. But the ride was long enough to reduce Miles to blubbering and tears. He was shaking from fright. Mister Von Karma stared at the boy agape._

_ "What is wrong with you?"_

_ The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Miles ran into the corridor and huddled against the wall still sobbing. A courtroom clerk went to his aid immediately._

_ "Oh dear," she said, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"_

_ "Leave him be," Mister Von Karma said, "He's only looking for attention. Miles get up, stop acting like a baby."_

_ "Don't shout at him," the clerk said, "He's only a boy. He's frightened."_

_ "Miles come on," Mister Von Karma said, "You mind your business."_

_ Mister Von Karma took Miles by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. Miles covered his face with a sleeve as if that could quell his sobbing. He followed Mister Von Karma without a word._

_ "I can't believe it," Mister Von Karma grumbled at him as they walked down the corridor. "Crying like a baby over a ride in the elevator."_

_ Mister Von Karma stopped in front of an office and Miles nearly ran into him. He looked up to find Von Karma glaring down at him again._

_ "Is that?" Mister Von Karma said, and he knelt suddenly and set his files on the floor. He pulled out a handkerchief; "You picked the worst time in the world to panic, boy."_

_ Mister Von Karma wiped roughly at Miles' face and Miles was shocked to see it come away red with his blood._

_ "A nosebleed," Mister Von Karma said, "They'll think I hurt you or something… Did you have to do this now?"_

_ "I'm sorry," Miles said._

_ Mister Von Karma gave him a few more dabs with the handkerchief and then squeezed his nose with it roughly, "Put your head back."_

_ Miles did as he was told._

_ "The absolute worst timing, you know?" Mister Von Karma said._

_ "I'm sorry," Miles said again, "I couldn't help it."_

_ "You can help it, boy," Mister Von Karma said, "I'll make sure you learn how—I promise you that."_

* * *

Miles was early to breakfast and was enjoying his cereal at a quiet table when Prince and Marshall joined him.

"Good Morning, Mister Edgeworth," Prince said, he looked tired and a little disheveled.

"Is it true Edgeworth?" Marshall said rather loudly. He still smelled like spirits and Miles wondered if he was still drunk. Miles looked at him quizzically and sipped his tea.

"There are many things in the world that are true, Marshall," Miles said, "But it is certainly not true that I can read your mind."

"Calm down Marshall," Prince said, "I'm going to get some coffee, I think you should come."

Marshall glared at him, eyes rimmed red, and his cheeks flushed with emotion—or drink, Miles couldn't really tell. Marshall sniffed and leaned back in his chair and glared at Miles. He didn't follow Prince to the breakfast buffet.

Miles had nothing to say to the man, if anything he was appalled—if not overly surprised at his behavior the previous night—but he had nothing to gain for lecturing the man. So he went back to his cereal.

"I went by to visit Bruce this morning," Marshall said, "He said you'd gone to the gym."

Miles shrugged in reply.

"I guess running up and down the stairs just isn't enough of a challenge."

That made Miles smirk a little, "Not really."

"He said you took him up in the elevator last night," Marshall said and Miles noted with some curiosity that in his anger, Marshall had quite forgotten about his cowboy shtick. Miles paused and met his eye for a moment and then picked up his teacup.

"Bruce said Lana was in there with you. He said she—"

"Really Marshall, I didn't think you were one to go about spreading office gossip."

"You know, Edgeworth," Marshall said leaning forward, "I don't care. You slimy little lawyers can do whatever you want—I don't care."

Miles put down his cup and glared at Marshall directly, "Good. So say nothing further on the subject."

"I won't, amigo—no sir-ree—I won't," Marshall crossed his arms and met his glare. Miles looked down at the dregs in his bowl and stirred them disinterestedly. He could feel Marshall watching him. Miles hoped he couldn't see that it bothered him. He couldn't explain what happened last night—but honestly, it would've been better if it hadn't happened that way, and since it was too late to undo it, he might as well pretend it never happened. Marshall stuck out a finger and tipped his bowl to peer into it.

"Why are you eating cereal?" Marshall said.

"I like cereal," Miles said. Good, change the subject.

"I thought you liked sausages…" Marshall said with not a little malice in his tone.

Miles shrugged, "I don't dislike sausages, but I'm not particularly fond of—"

Marshall started laughing at him.

"Officer Marshall, there's no reason you should always be rude," Miles said.

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings buckaroo?" Marshall said. He grabbed up one of the mini boxes of raisin bran and studied it. Miles didn't feel the need to respond.

"Oh, I know… You don't have any feelings…" Marshall muttered bitterly.

"Hey, they make omelets to order," Prince said when he returned and set down his plate. He looked at Marshall and then Miles, "Eh? What's going on?"

Marshall was glaring hard at Miles. Miles stood to leave, "I was about to leave," he said and nodded politely at Prince, "We have to be over at the courthouse before nine."

"Do we?" Prince said.

"No, I meant—" Miles began but Marshall interrupted him.

"He means himself and Chief Prosecutor Skye," Marshall said.

"Oh, right," Prince said, "Jake, you ought to have some coffee."

Miles left the two of them alone and headed back out toward the lobby and the now familiar stairwell door. Doctor Young and Chief Skye were walking from the direction of the elevators. He put his head down and hoped they wouldn't notice him.

"Good Morning, Miles," Doctor Young said. He looked up and nodded a greeting without pausing.

"Chihiro," Chief Skye said, "save me a seat, will you? Miles!"

Miles stopped walking—and he was so close to the door too—but he didn't look up or turn to greet her.

"Miles," Chief Skye put a hand on his arm, "What's wrong?"

"Chief," Miles began.

"Please, you can call me Lana—"

"Chief Skye," Miles said coldly, "You and I shouldn't be so familiar—especially not in present company."

Chief Skye looked around and then glared at him a moment in the cold guise of the Chief of Prosecutors. Then she shoved him toward the stairwell door. They went in together. One of the maids was sitting on the landing above them smoking a cigarette. She squeaked and put it out before going back into main corridor. Miles frowned. He didn't like cigarette smoke—especially if it was trapped and collected indoors.

"Miles about last night," Chief Skye said. She paused as if unsure of how she should continue.

"You don't have to explain it," Miles said, "You thought it might distract me—and it worked. That was the first time I've ever enjoyed an elevator ride."

"Yes," Chief Skye said, "So… Don't think I… I don't want it to be weird between us."

"Right," Miles said. But it would be weird, Miles thought; it was already weird. She must've gathered some of what he was thinking because she frowned at him.

"I didn't plan it like that," she said, "It just sort of happened. But it worked."

"Yes," Miles said.

"That's all that really matters," she said.

"But," Miles said shaking his head, "You have a witness."

"Yeah," Chief Skye said. She was wringing her hands and gazing at the floor now, "About that…"

Miles only shrugged.

"I kind of wish we could throw him down the stairs," Chief Skye said.

"That's horrible!" Miles glared at her. She grinned sheepishly.

"It was a joke, Miles," she said, "Lighten up."

He shot her another look, one that plainly said, 'that's not funny.'

"Miles," Chief Skye said, "I hope you don't think less of me because I… I don't normally go around kissing men I…"

Miles watched her as she tried to dance around the subject—she seemed so vulnerable all of a sudden. He shrugged again.

"You don't have to apologize, Chief," Miles said, "In fact Goodman tried to kiss me after you left—so obviously, it's my fault."

Miles smiled at her and turned to start up the stairs. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. Miles swallowed. Alarm bells went off in his head and somewhere, Mister Von Karma was frowning and shaking his head. But he knew he would like it, and sometimes it's okay to have what you liked, even if it was frivolous—even if it went nowhere.

He didn't fight her when she put her arms around his neck and pulled his face toward hers. She didn't seem to mind when his arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to him. Neither of them noticed the door opening or the look on Marshalls face—eyes rimmed red from drink; stubble longer than usual.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Marshall shouted.

Miles and Lana did notice that.

* * *

_"So… You're Miles Edgeworth," Prosecutor Neil Marshall said, smiling cockily from his desk. He wore a leather vest and his boots were made of snakeskin—at least it looked like what Miles imagined snakeskin might look like._

_Miles stepped further into the office at Prosecutor Marshall's command and he sat on the leather bound couch when Prosecutor Marshall nodded toward it._

"_So you're the little prodigy the High Prosecutor keeps raving about," Marshall noted with a grin. Miles frowned; he was having trouble imagining Mister Von Karma raving about anything._

"_Drink?" Marshall asked and he stood and walked over to the window where the bar was cleverly hidden in the bookcase. Marshall set a tumbler on the ledge and glanced over his shoulder at Miles, "No… wait… You're not old enough to drink, are you?"_

"_No," Miles said._

_Marshall laughed as he poured three fingers of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, "How old are you anyway?"_

"_I'm nineteen," Miles said, "nineteen and a half."_

_Marshall laughed again, "Don't forget that half, it's gotta count for something."_

_He shook his head and sipped his drink while he stared out the window, "What is this world coming to…?"_

_Miles stared at Prosecutor Marshall's back, not sure if he was expected to answer—the question certainly seemed rhetorical to him. He wasn't really sure why he'd been told to visit Prosecutor Marshall—Mister Von Karma didn't seem to think too highly of the man. But everywhere else, Marshall was spoken of as a prodigy, and Miles, the newest up-and-coming, was being compared and contrasted against him on a regular basis._

"_They started you young, then?" Marshall said, turning so suddenly to look at Miles that he nearly jumped up from his seat in surprise. Miles only nodded in reply—he was still young—it stood to reason that he had begun his training at an early age._

"_Poor kid," Marshall said swishing the contents of his glass and staring oddly at the floor, "What do you do for fun?"_

"_I'm sorry?" Miles said; it was a confusing question for him._

"_I mean, guys your age should be chasing girls and driving too fast—stuff like that… Sowing wild oats, as they say," Prosecutor Marshall said._

_Marshall gave him a sympathetic look. Somehow it seemed to Miles that the man was less concerned with Miles' lack of misspent adolescence than his own stolen youth. Marshall sighed at the drink in his hand and then set it on his desk, barely touched._

"_Come on, kid," Marshall said, suddenly chipper again, "Let's head down to the precinct. My big brother's a detective there."_

"_I've already visited the police department," Miles said._

"_Oh," Prosecutor Marshall said, "What do you want to do then?"_

_Miles stared at him; he didn't know what to say. Marshall pulled off his garish fedora and scratched his head._

"_Prosecutor Marshall," Miles said, "I was told you might have advice or training…?"_

"_Uh," Marshall said, "Sure… We could go over some stuff later… If you want…"_

_Miles must've let some of his disappointment leak out into his expression because Marshall rounded on him suddenly._

"_Look, kid," he said waving his hands emphatically, "You can't be working all of the time, you know?"_

_Miles looked confused._

"_You're too young to be so serious… Haven't you always wanted to do something—"_

"_I've always wanted to be a lawyer," Miles said, "Now I want to learn how you put criminals away."_

_Marshall looked deflated suddenly, "Well… I guess…"_

_Miles stared at him._

"_Say, kid," Marshall said suddenly smiling, "Have you met Prosecutor Payne?"_

* * *

Miles stood relieved in the courthouse lobby. Albert Sheinheilig was in a conference room with Doctor Young and a court Marshal. He looked up when Lana Skye came in from just outside the courthouse.

"Goodman and the rest of them are headed down to the precinct. Looks like we're getting a van. Two guys from the Marshals are coming with us—mostly so they can bring the van back."

Miles frowned at her, "You and I can fly back, though… There's no reason—"

"I don't want to stir things up, Miles," Lana said, "You saw Jake's reaction…"

"Yes, but," Miles said, "I don't see how my sitting in the same vehicle with him for five hours is going to make things any better."

"I just don't want anyone to think there's a conflict of interest," Lana said.

"So I'll take a different flight," Miles said. He was starting to get irritated with her.

"The City won't authorize it," she said.

"I'll pay for it myself," Miles said.

"The City also won't authorize the use of personal funds for official travel," Lana said with a small sigh.

"Right," Miles moved away from her and walked toward the window to stare out at the bare desert, "I suppose I can just sleep the whole way."

"Or you might try to get to know those guys better," Lana said.

Miles glared at the window, her reflection was giving him a worried look. Somehow, it felt like he was being manipulated. He felt it; he could recognize it easily enough—and yet there was nothing he could do about it. Miles watched her reflection turn away to speak with a clerk; maybe this has been going on longer than he'd realized.

He was in the middle of cursing himself for his own stupidity when Doctor Young burst from the door grinning and reported her findings to Chief Skye. Miles frowned. At least this case was going to trial soon—he'd have a distraction.

"Hello Miles," Chihiro said—she seemed to pop out of nowhere. Miles threw her an apathetic glance before turning his gaze back toward the window.

"Doctor Young," he said by way of greeting and dismissal. She never seemed to take the hint.

"Mister Sheinheilig isn't crazy," she said. At least her idea of small talk was relevant today.

Miles frowned at the window, but didn't respond. He was watching Lana's reflection where she was discussing something with the court Marshal.

"He can stand trial next week like you planned. I'm also putting together a report on his and his brother's mental profiles, you might be able to use them—"

"Edgeworth, a word," Lana said coldly. Miles didn't mind; it was an excuse to walk away from the chatty doctor.

She led him out of earshot of the rest of the group and out of sight of the doorway. Miles frowned watching her red muffler lift a little with the movements of her walking.

"Miles," she said and she stopped so suddenly he nearly ran into her, "I wanted to make sure I was perfectly clear before we get back… Nothing happened, okay? You and I—it was nothing."

Miles gave her a searching look before nodding, "Right, Chief."

She looked a little relieved and her visage softened a little, "I could always count on you and your scruples, Miles Edgeworth."

Miles shrugged.

"I think the van is here," Lana said, "I'll see you back at the office tomorrow?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"Will you let me know when you guys get in?"

"Yes."

"Will you be coming by to pick up Franziska?"

"Are you sure you don't want to keep her?" Miles smirked a little, "If it's not to late. Otherwise, I'll be by in the morning."

"That will be fine, too," Lana said, "Drive safely."

"Thank you, Chief," Miles said. He turned to join the others but Lana had a hand on his arm suddenly. He looked at her and she stared up at him.

"You know," she said, "It never would've worked out anyway."

Miles hesitated a moment and then said, "Nothing happened," before walking away from her.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! 'Whatever happens in Vegas…' **_

_In the first flashback, Miles is 20—just kidding—he's like 9. They're going into a custody hearing. Miles doesn't really understand that he's being adopted—so I kept it vague, since it's his POV (also, I don't really know how any of this law stuff works… My entire courtroom experience has been 'How do I get out of jury duty?')_

_In the second flashback, Miles is 19 (and a half); this is a little more than two years before the SL-9 incident. Neil is 24 or 25._

_There you have it… it took over 105 thousand words to tell you, this is about Lana Skye and Miles Edgeworth… (Actually, I didn't know they were going to do that…)_


	27. Clash of the Siblings

**Chapter 27**

**Clash of the Siblings**

"_One thing, Miles," Maddy said, "And it can't be work related."_

_ Miles was frowning next to her and staring scornfully at the other couple at their table. The other man, Jeff or Charlie or something, was stealing glances at Maddy while his girlfriend or wife grinned at Miles with what he could only describe as plastic encouragement. Miles frowned, they were only three questions in and he couldn't take it._

_ "Um," Miles said, "I play the flute."_

_ "Oh," Whatsis-name said, "Professionally?"_

_ "No," Miles said._

_ "Em, well okay," Plastic said, "Next question! Maddy, what are three things you absolutely cannot live without?"_

_ "Oh my," Maddy said, "Let's see… I must have my iPhone—I definitely need that."_

_ Miles crossed his arms while Plastic and Whatsis-name pressured her into divulging the next two things, which, of course, were silly indeed. Then Plastic answered the same question and Miles thought her answers revealed her to be much more vapid than he'd initially thought. Then Jeff or whatever took his turn and named three television channels—Miles thought that was really kind of sad. Finally they all turned to stare at Miles anticipating his response._

_ "I have to visit the restroom," Miles said and stood, "Please excuse me."_

_ "Answer the question, darling," Maddy said sweetly. She was glaring at him in a way that made him want to duck for cover._

_ "Oh," Miles said—he was still standing._

_ "Three things you cannot live without," Plastic reminded him._

_ Miles frowned, "Food and water."_

_ Plastic and Whatsis-Name stared up at him blankly and Maddy was forcing a smile. Miles thought he saw her eyebrow twitch._

_ "Three things," Whatsis-name said._

_ "Right," Miles said and stuck his hands in his pockets casually, but he made a great show of thinking very hard to come up with his answer. "Food, water, and my toothbrush."_

_ "Ah," Plastic said. She even gave a fake laugh like Miles had made a joke that wasn't funny and she was too polite to say anything._

_ "Well," Whatsis-name said, "You go on and take care of business, old boy. If you don't mind, we'll just go the next few rounds without you."_

_ "Oh," Miles said, "Well, I'd hate to miss it, but I'd feel worse about halting everyone else's fun."_

_ "Oh we can wait," Maddy said, "Do hurry up dear."_

_ Miles looked around at the table hoping no one could read the panic he suddenly felt._

_ "Oh no, really," Miles said simpering, "You don't have to wait for me—I-I don't mind at all."_

_ "Let's start the next round," Whatsis-name said, "It's my turn."_

_ Miles headed toward the bathroom as quickly as he could. He ought to be well away from the group if he wanted to avoid being dragged into more of that game. He'd deal with Maddy later._

* * *

Miles wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but it hadn't been very long—they were still in Nevada. The music in his headphones had stopped, but rather than give away his wakefulness, Miles sat still and stared at the desert passing in the window. Goodman was driving and Miles was angled in such a way in the seat next to him, Miles was sure the detective wouldn't notice if he was awake or not.

There was laughter in the passenger seats directly behind them. Miles' brow furrowed despite his lack of audience.

"I miss them good 'ol days…" Marshall was saying.

"Miss busting your hump with the 'Cough-up Queen'?" Goodman said.

"Hey," Marshall said, "She's all-right in my book."

"Until she brings you the wrong lunchbox again?" This was Prince speaking.

"Jake, you should just leave her alone," Goodman said.

"Look," Marshall said, "I don't make her do anything. She's the one that thinks she's gonna spy on the damn lawyers. Two years ain't shit happening over there."

"I don't know why the two of you won't just move on," Goodman said, "What's done is done."

"T'ain't," Marshall muttered, his voice lowered with a simmering anger, "Not until I know what happened to him."

"Well," Goodman said, "Maybe you should make friends with Edgeworth—he seems awful friendly with the Chief."

"Edgeworth—" Marshall said his name like a curse.

"Hey, is he asleep?" Prince interrupted.

"Yeah," Goodman said, "He hasn't moved in half an hour."

"He's as slimy as Von Karma," Marshall said and he kicked the back of Miles' chair, "Hey Edgeworth! Wake up puppy!"

Miles sat up and shifted in his chair he crossed his arms and sniffed. This was going to be the longest five hours of his life.

"Are we there yet?" he said and Goodman smiled at him.

"Hey Edgeworth!" Marshall said and gave the chair another kick, "You can't be goin' around kissin' Miss Lana Skye. You don't know what you're messin' with."

Miles put a hand over his face and sunk down in his seat. This was bound to happen on this trip. He just wished it hadn't begun so soon.

"I didn't know you liked kissin' girls Edgeworth," Marshall continued, "I always thought you was queer'er than two guys fu—"

"Jake," Goodman said, "Leave him alone."

"Why?" Marshall said, "'cuz he's High Prosecutor? I don't give a shit. You can't bust me down anymore than I been busted down already. "Y'hear me you little shit? I don't care what you do."

Miles cleared his throat, "Thank you for being up front with me, Officer Marshall."

"Yer welcome," Marshall said.

"What just happened?" Prince said.

"Sometimes you just don't ask, buddy," Goodman said.

"Bruce," Marshall said, "Please turn on the radio."

"Where's your guitar?" Goodman said.

"I hate you," Marshall said.

The van quieted down after that save for the muffled conversation of the marshals in the back seat. Miles stared at the desert scrub whizzing past and absently fumbled with the cuff on his jacket.

"Don't mind him too much, Edgeworth," Goodman said, "We couldn't stop him raiding the mini bar after breakfast. It'll wear off soon."

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow and glanced at Goodman, "Maybe he should get help?"

Goodman opened his mouth as if to reply and glanced behind him before leaning toward Miles, "He and Lana used to date."

Miles shrugged, "Hmm... And that is apropos of what exactly…?"

Marshall let out a snore from the back seat. "He said he saw you kissing her in the hotel," Prince chimed in.

Goodman grinned, "Twice."

"Are we in high school?" Miles said derisively.

"We were just having a little fun," Prince said, "Jake's been going crazy about it since this morning. Just something to bust his balls about back at the precinct."

Miles frowned, "I would hope you'd show a little more discretion."

"Aren't you glad you came with us?" Prince said, "Can you imagine how much worse it would've been if you weren't in here?"

Miles groaned and crossed his arms, "I still don't follow…"

"What are you trying to follow?" Goodman said.

Miles made an exasperated noise and turned his attention back to the window. Goodman was eyeing him sidelong while Prince started laughing.

"Jake was always saying that you were fruity and fru-fru and all kinds of stuff like that—and then you made out with the Chief Prosecutor. Man, he was so mad," Prince said.

Miles gnashed his teeth. Goodman offered a sympathetic glance—at least he had the decency not to laugh at him. Miles could feel his ears grow hot.

"Hey Prince," Goodman said, "How about you tone it down back there. We still have over three hours to go. Better keep the peace—right?"

Prince mumbled a reply and he slumped in his seat looking slightly abashed. Miles straightened in his seat and looked at Goodman, "Thank you."

"Sorry Edgeworth," Goodman replied without turning from the road, "He was just goofing around—he didn't mean anything by it."

Miles shrugged, "I'm worried about what they'll say over in criminal affairs—I think Officer Marshall has the wrong idea."

"I'll quash that, don't worry," Goodman said.

"Nothing happened really," Miles continued, "I suppose I was put off by the elevator."

"I don't remember," Goodman said, "and the other guys will forget soon enough."

Miles fidgeted in his seat and hesitated before he said, "I always thought Officer Marshall just had a chip on his shoulder—but it really seems he just doesn't like me."

Goodman didn't reply immediately. Miles sighed and slumped down in his chair.

"You're Von Karma's protégé, no one really likes you," Goodman said, "Except Gumshoe…"

Miles smirked, "Oh well… I do appreciate the honesty."

"Your welcome," Goodman said. Neither of them spoke for several long minutes and the silence spread awkwardly throughout the vehicle. Miles looked behind him to see Prince slumped against the window and Marshall slumped onto him. The marshals in the back with the detainee were also silent.

"I think you're alright, Edgeworth," Goodman said finally. Miles looked over at him, startled at the break in the quiet. He didn't know what to say to that.

"Um… thank you?" Miles said after a moment.

Goodman chuckled, "You want to know why Marshall hates you?"

"Probably SL-7," Miles said without skipping a beat.

"Um yeah," Goodman said, "You do pay attention…"

"Always," Miles said.

"He just wants to know what really happened," Goodman said and he glanced at Miles expectantly.

Miles shrugged, "I inherited that trial at the last minute—I never really spent too much time with the investigation. Plus everyone involved were cops—I wasn't about to get in the middle of that."

"Yeah but," Goodman said, "What about justice?"

"A known killer was convicted," Miles said, "That was justice… As for the truth? I don't know…"

"But if you had a chance to learn the whole truth, wouldn't you take it? Especially for the sake of everyone involved."

Miles didn't answer and stared fixedly at the road ahead of them instead. Eventually, Goodman looked over to see if he was still awake. Finally, Miles turned to look at Goodman directly.

"Yes," Miles said, "Truth is much more important… But I'll admit I didn't feel that way back then."

Goodman chuckled, "Back then… It was only a couple years ago."

"You know what I mean," Miles said, "SL-7 is over, why stir up more troubles."

"You could've said the same thing about DL-6," Goodman said.

Miles clenched his teeth for a moment—he figured he knew what Goodman was trying to do. Miles let out a breath and leaned back in his chair hands behind his head.

"It's all ancient history," he said blandly.

Detective Goodman only smiled.

* * *

_"Stop it!" Miles was on the floor with his butt in the air and his arms wrapped around his head, "STOP!"_

_ Franziska didn't stop hitting him. Miles was forced to do something he didn't want to do—he slid forward and tackled his little sister. She screamed in retaliation. Miles covered her mouth with his hand and she bit him._

_ "Ow!"_

_ "No fair! You're bigger than me!"_

_ "I told you to stop hitting me with that-!"_

_ Somehow she managed to twist onto her back and she placed both stockinged legs, each ending in a polished strappy dress shoe and shoved Miles hard—right in his solar plexus. He fell back hard gasping and clutching at his stomach. Franziska didn't wait for him to recover._

_ Instead she jumped on him again whacked him in the face with her riding crop. Miles still hadn't caught his breath, but he managed to throw his arms up to block her blows. As he regained his bearing he started sliding backward until he hit a wall. Using the wall for leverage he sat up, startling the little girl. Miles grabbed her by her wrists and glared at her._

_ Franziska started laughing at him._

_ "Look! Ha ha! Your face is so red!"_

_ Miles got so angry he started to tremble. He let go of her to grab the riding crop instead. She let out a frightening wail. Miles almost gave it back to her—almost._

_ "Will you just stop!" He said looking down at her, she was looking at the riding crop in his hand._

_ "I'm not giving this back to you."_

_ "Miiiiiiiilllesss! It's mine!" she screamed up at him._

_ "No!" Miles stepped back from her raised it up above his head._

_ Then Mister Von Karma stepped into the room. Franziska grinned wickedly at Miles while Miles met the old man's glare._

_ "What is wrong with you? Why do you have to make so much noise!?"_

_ Miles took a step back and stood stiffly, he was so frightened he dropped the crop. Franziska snatched it up immediately and ran toward her father. She made gloating faces at him. Mister Von Karma stared at him for what seemed an eternity, Miles was afraid to breathe. Miles wanted to protest, he wanted to shout at him, to tell him that it was Franziska that instigated this. Mister Von Karma always took her side._

_Miles shut his eyes—he didn't want to die. Surely that's what he deserved for fighting with a six-year-old. He started to tremble, and he closed his fists to hide his shaking hands. He just hoped it was over with quickly._

"_Papa, no!"_

_Miles opened his eyes in surprise. Mister Von Karma had taken the riding crop away from her._

"_Go to your room, Franziska Von Karma!"_

"_I don't want to!"_

_Mister Von Karma smacked her on the butt with the crop, "Go to your room! Nice little girls don't fight with their brothers."_

_Miles still hadn't moved from where he'd been standing. The old man turned his icy glare toward him._

"_Come, Edgeworth," and he turned to leave the room. Miles followed him cautiously and at a distance. When Mister Von Karma entered the nearest bathroom, Miles hesitated before entering._

"_Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "Explain yourself."_

"_I didn't do anything to her!" Miles blurted out, he closed his eyes and waited for the worst._

_Instead a hand landed on his shoulder and he could feel the man's presence grow nearer._

"_She really did a number on you," Mister Von Karma said, and he chuckled a little._

_He put his hands under Miles' arms and lifted him to set him on the counter. Miles' eyes popped open in surprise._

_Mister Von Karma was rummaging in the medicine cabinet for ointment, he paused and looked at Miles._

"_You should see your face," he said and closed the cabinet so Miles could look in the mirror. His face and ears were still red and his hair was mussed and standing in some places. But worst of all were all the welts on his face and neck—some of them bleeding._

_Mister Von Karma took him by the chin and turned his head. He started to put ointment on Miles' face. The action was not tender, and Mister Von Karma was not very gentle—but it was the nicest thing the old man had done for him in the two years Miles had lived with them._

"_You know, I appreciate your sense of chivalry," Mister Von Karma said, "it isn't very civilized to hit girls, especially when their half one's age."_

_Miles didn't say anything and after a moment, Mister Von Karma continued, "She'll be better when she learns reason. Now get back to your studies."_

_Miles slid off the counter and all but ran back to his books._

* * *

Miles left the courthouse hours after they'd arrived. He climbed the stairs to his flat with the slow deliberate steps of a zombie, drive weary, sleep deprived and generally exhausted—all while the nagging feeling he'd forgotten something played with his concentration. Miles paused to catch his breath—he'd only made it to the third floor landing.

"I should just take the elevator," he said aloud into the stairwell. He thought about it seriously for a moment before trudging the rest of the way to his floor.

He dropped his things inside the door to the flat and saw Franziska sitting in the living room.

"Franziska," he said, "I forgot to pick you up."

She stared at him disdainfully. He didn't seem to notice and after a pause to greet Wellington, he started toward his room.

"Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said, "Don't you think you should greet me properly?"

Miles looked at her quizzically, "Hello? Good afternoon, how are you?"

"I'm well, little brother," she said, "Do sit with me and tell me about your trip."

"I really want to get some sleep," Miles protested, but he was already walking toward her. He dropped himself heavily beside her on the divan. She was frowning at him.

"Lana Skye got in this morning," Franziska said, "Where have you been?"

"I had to file paperwork at the court," Miles said and paused to stifle a yawn, "and I drove in from Nevada."

Franziska waved a hand dismissively at him, "Well, I visited Papa today. They're going to move him in the next three days—they won't tell me when precisely."

Miles frowned.

"You need to visit him Miles," she said, "before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" He rubbed the back of his neck and then hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, "I have a case going to trial, he can wait. He won't be going anywhere once they transfer him."

"Miles you promised you would!" She said, "You said when you got back from Las Vegas you'd take some personal time—"

"Franziska," Miles said and stood up. He swayed a little.

"You promised," she repeated.

Miles sat back down and looked at Franziska. He wasn't even sure where to begin.

"He wants to see you," she said quietly and looked at her hands, she was still clutching her riding crop.

Miles looked down at the floor and said, "I don't want to see him."

Franziska's grip tightened on the riding crop but she said nothing. She only fumed silently beside him. He rubbed his palms together, surprised and pleased with Franziska's self control. He cleared his throat to speak but found he had nothing else to say on the matter. They sat quietly together for several minutes before she turned to him.

"Miles, please?"

Miles replied with a slight glance at her before leaning back on the couch. He started to undo his cravat. Franziska's stare was boring into him. Miles shook his head.

"But Miles you—"

"Franziska," he said, "You're making me crazy."

She made a frustrated noise—something like a growl and a sigh. Then she jabbed him hard in the ribs with the handle of her riding crop.

Miles only paused for a moment and then continued with the cravat—mouth set and brow furrowed, "Ow," was all he said.

"Miles you haven't done _anything_ with me since I got here! And Papa is struggling with his appeal and you wont help! You're the worst kind of person! I hate—"

Miles was glaring at the floor now, twisting the white cloth of his cravat in his hands.

"—being here! All you're doing is making me miserable! I'm so much better than you when—"

"Franziska…"

"I hate you!"

"I'm not very fond of you right now either," Miles said.

Franziska screamed and jumped up from the divan. She glared at him and Miles met her eyes—her Von Karma eyes—with some trepidation. Her lip curled slightly. He slowly leaned back where he was sitting—he had a feeling like he'd poked the tiger too much. Miles was completely shocked when she swung that riding crop and hit him across his cheek. She didn't pause to let him get his bearings, but whacked him again and again with that riding crop. Miles leapt to his feet, fuming.

"Stop it!" He shouted at her. Franziska started to back away from him, but she didn't stop hitting him.

Miles rushed at her and hugged her tightly, pinning her arms to her sides. He lifted her inelegantly and she started to kick her legs about frantically. Miles moved awkwardly toward the guest room with his struggling captive.

"Put me down!" Her shout was shrill and too close to his ears.

Miles shifted his hold on her and trudged into the guest room and dropped her onto the bed. She glared up at him breathing hard from their exchange.

"I ought to lock this door," Miles said.

"You wouldn't dare," Franziska said.

"Don't push me," Miles paused and held out his hand, "Give me that thing."

"No," she said, and put her riding crop behind her back, "If you want it you'll have to take it from me."

Miles made a face at her and leaned forward to make a grab for the riding crop. Franziska managed to pop back up on her knees and she reached toward him. Then she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his mouth. Miles was too shocked to move. He couldn't fight her; he only stood where he was, as wooden as a puppet. When Franziska pulled away from him, both of them were breathing hard and he stared into those icy blue eyes, still puzzled at their exchange. Miles stood up and backed away a few steps. He stared at her like she was an alien creature, some thing that had invaded his home. What just happened?

Franziska was staring up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. She really was a beautiful—no! Oh hell no! She's my sister… Miles blinked and took another step back.

They glared at each other for several long moments. Finally, Franziska broke their stare and Franziska sat up waving her riding crop at him and grinning with unabashed triumph. Miles' eyebrows twitched and he continued to glare mutely at her. Franziska laughed, "You'd never dare…"

Miles turned his head for a moment to pause and think. Then he leaned into her and she fell back onto the bed, their faces never separating. Miles put his hands on her arms sliding slowly up toward her hands. Franziska groaned beneath him. Miles grabbed the riding crop and abruptly he broke away from her and backed off.

"Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska said and she sat up to look at him.

Miles didn't know what to say—everything felt so wrong… But in a good way—no! He was not going to think about his little sister that way.

"Miles," she said still staring at him, desperation started to creep into her voice.

Miles gritted his teeth and took a few more steps away from her. He held up the riding crop. Franziska seemed to snap out of her reverie and the sweet desperation in those pale blue eyes froze over as she fixed her gaze on her prized riding crop.

"You're an asshole, Miles Edgeworth," she said stonily.

He glared angrily at her and lifted the riding crop over his head and she flinched.

"I should hit you with this," he said through clenched teeth.

"You wouldn't," she said, her voice suddenly tenuous and fearful.

He relaxed his stance and she sat up a little more. He shook his head and held the riding crop in his hand. Franziska sat up a little straighter, suddenly hopeful. Miles swallowed and then snapped the riding crop with his other hand.

"Miles! Why would you—!" she screamed.

"I warned you last time not to hit me with it" He replied coldly. He turned and walked out of the room without waiting for her reply.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_**Lots of Edgeworth abuse… but in the end who abuses who….?**_

_Soooooo…. It's been a VERY long time and I am immensely sorry to both of the people that read this story (besides myself). I was reading through the early stuff and I'm kind of sad about all the errors, inconsistencies, and bad grammar—I don't know if I should rewrite the whole thing or press on till the end…. Let's just press on to the end…_

_Oh, by the way, this chapter is dedicated to you. Sorry it took so long._


	28. Concessions

**Chapter 28**

**Concessions**

_Franziska jumped up from her spot on the stairs when the front door opened and she bolted toward it before the caretaker could open it. Miles was finally back!_

_ "Oh! Brüderchen!"_

_ "Hello," Miles said and he had to step back when she bounded up and hugged him._

_ "I missed you," she said, "Usually you come home from school but this time you didn't and Papa told me that he was going to meet you somewhere, but he di—"_

_ "I missed you too Franziska," Miles said, and he put a hand on her shoulder and entered the house._

_ Franziska followed him and his meager luggage up the stairs to his bedroom on the other end of the house. She sat on his bed swinging her legs while watching him fumble with the white cloth he wore around his neck. The silk was stark and white against the black shirt and pants he wore._

_ "You look like a priest," she said after he'd removed the neck-cloth and stored it in the safety of his dresser. Miles looked at her and then moved to grab his travel bag._

_ "That's a little disconcerting," he said as he emptied the bag._

_ He didn't have much in it, a few small clothes and some pajamas—the bare necessities for travel. Franziska leaned over and stared into the bag with some disappointment. _

_ "Why didn't you—" she began and Miles frowned at her apologetically._

_ "We were busy," Miles said, "I didn't have time to—"_

_ "You mean you and Papa were busy? What were you doing?"_

_ "Mostly we were in court," Miles said._

_ Franziska turned away from him and frowned into her lap. Papa always had more time for Miles. It wasn't fair—she was so much smarter than Miles, not to mention exponentially cuter. Why didn't Papa ever bring her along instead?_

_ Miles seemed to guess what she was thinking because he was throwing her remorseful glances as he unbuttoned the black shirt he was wearing._

_ "Papa only likes you more because you're a boy," she crossed her arms and glared at him as coldly as an eleven-year-old could muster._

_ Miles chuckled and it only served to raise her ire._

_ "I'm also five years older than you," Miles said tugging the black shirt off to reveal a plain white tee shirt he had underneath, "I'm sure he'll bring you along when you're older."_

_ "I'm ready now, Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted and swung her riding crop toward him._

_ He dodged her swing and shook his head at her, "Perhaps you are," he said, "But when you do things like that, you're saying that you're not."_

_ He reached for her riding crop and she screamed swatting at his arm until he pulled away._

_ "I am too ready!"_

_ Miles sighed audibly and turned to leave his room, "Don't throw a tantrum, I just got back."_

_ "I'm not throwing a—"_

_ He paused and looked at her before leaving. Franziska crossed her arms and glared at his retreating back, "Someday, little brother, I'll show Papa how much better I am than you, and you'll stay behind." _

* * *

When she woke up, she washed and dressed and went immediately into the dining room to take her breakfast. Of course, breakfast was waiting, but Miles was nowhere in sight. Franziska sat huffily at the table. He was either still asleep or he 'd awoken early to walk that dog.

Franziska had just returned from the sideboard when the door opened and the blustering and panting told her Miles had returned with his dog. She left the table to greet him only to find Mister Wellington struggling to unclip the big dog's leash. He was disheveled, as if that dog had dragged him through every bush in the vicinity.

"Where's Edgeworth?" she said impatiently.

"Ah Miss Von Karma," Wellington said pausing to look at her, "Mister Edgeworth is in his room."

"Still asleep," she said derisively.

"Would you like me to check? I'll tell him that you want to see him."

"Very well," she said and she squeezed her hands into fists—she didn't like not having her riding crop.

Franziska went back to the table and took her repast.

"Franziska," Miles showed up a few minutes later. She didn't turn to look at him.

"Little brother," she said.

"Wellington said you wanted to see me," he said.

"Hmm, I didn't _want_ to see you," she said, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't sneak away before I saw you this morning."

She turned and glared at him. He looked tired and irritated…? Miles always looked irritated. He had a dark blue dressing gown over his old man pajamas. His hair was messed up and it stood up in the back. It might've been cute if Miles wasn't such a jerk.

"Well, Little Brother?"

Miles stood leaning against the doorway but did not enter, "Good morning," he said blandly. He held up a newspaper and waved it at her before straightening and approaching to drop the paper beside her plate.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Paper," he said, already turning to walk away.

The headline read "Take Two: District Attorney renews case against Honeymoon Killers". Franziska frowned and rolled the newspaper sloppily and pushed it aside. Miles was bragging again—he was always so full of himself.

She relocated to the sitting room after breakfast so as to catch him on his way out—he was not going to get out of here without giving her the answer she wanted to hear. She sat tapping her fingers against the arm of the divan. Wellington eventually came in and offered to turn on the television, but Franziska did not want any distractions and told him so dismissively.

Miles entered the sitting room mostly dressed—he wasn't wearing his suit jacket—and carrying a saucer and teacup. He glanced sidelong at her but did not pause on the way to his desk in the library. Franziska waited a few moments and then got up to follow him.

"Miles Edgeworth," she said loudly and he looked up in surprise from whatever he was doing.

"Is there something you need?" he said turning back to his work.

"Will you take me to the courthouse today?"

He looked up at her again—startled. He nodded at her before looking away from her. He was always like this—giving more care to his work than anything else. Something he'd learned from Papa. She stared at him for several minutes, frowning. Then she cleared her throat impatiently.

"Did you need to go now?" He asked.

Franziska stared into his lovely gray eyes and smirked. She was only going to visit the court records room—she wasn't on any kind of schedule.

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," he said glancing disappointedly at whatever he was working on. He checked his watch with a frown.

"I wasn't going to leave for another half-hour or so," he said, "But I suppose we can leave now—if you're ready."

"Of course I'm ready little brother," she said and turned on her heel. She watched him disappear to the back of the flat and a minute later he came out with his jacket over his arm and his obnoxious metal case in the other hand. He said nothing to her when he got to the door, pausing to set down the case and put on his jacket. With only a glance at her he exited the flat.

Franziska wasn't going to leave his side until she'd had a chance to settle the awkward tussle from the previous night. It was obvious to her, Miles was in love with her—and he'd probably felt like that for a long time. She just wanted him to admit it.

Going down the narrow stairs was a bit of a challenge in the shoes she was wearing and Miles got ahead of her. Her eyes were locked on his back. He had broad shoulders—probably genetic, because Miles went to the gym very infrequently and she was sure he'd never touched a dumbbell in his life.

She startled when she bumped into him. Miles shot her a piercing glare and then said, "Edgeworth."

He was on his phone. Franziska crossed her arms impatiently and stared at him. After a minute or two, she pushed past him making a show of bumping against him, and continued down the stairs.

She made it all the way to his little red car before she saw him exit the stairwell door. He was looking more irritated than usual.

Miles was pretty distracted when he unlocked the car and held the door open for her, he didn't bother to make her take off her shoes.

"Something's come up," he said as he settled in the driver's seat and put on his seatbelt, "I'm going to have to drop you off, call me when you're ready to leave."

"What happened—?"

"I'm not completely sure," he said, "I'll find out when I get to the office."

"Good thing I got you to leave early," Franziska said.

Miles smirked a little as they exited the garage, "Yeah."

They drove in silence for a while before Franziska said, "Wouldn't it be better if you went into your office straight away?"

"I thought you had to—" He started.

"It can wait," she said, "Obviously, you have something much more imperative to attend to."

Miles had his eyes one the road but he smiled a little as he changed lanes to get on the freeway, "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Don't act so surprised, Miles Edgeworth," she said.

His smile spread a little more as he shifted to increase his speed. Miles Edgeworth was very handsome sometimes.

Like always he was a madman on the highway—jumping lanes to get around the other cars. She cleared her throat audibly as his speed left fast and started approaching crazy. He glanced at her and slowed the car.

"Sorry," he said.

"Does this have to do with the case you have going to trial?"

"She didn't say so directly," he said, "but I have a feeling that's exactly what this is about…"

They fell into silence again—she couldn't believe him—acting as if nothing had happened the previous night.

Franziska cleared her throat again and she clenched her empty right fist—she really missed having that riding crop. He startled a little and looked at her.

"Did you say something?"

"No," she said, "But I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering when you were going to apologize to me."

Miles looked at her, his eyes wide in shock. When he turned back toward the road he slammed on the break and they crashed into a water barrel near the exit they'd just missed.

"What!" he said incredulously.

Franziska raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms—Miles Edgeworth was always so oblivious.

* * *

_"Papa is so angry with you," she said as he held the car door open for her, "What did you do?"_

_ Miles made a grimace, and then closed her door. He was still angry as he dropped himself into the driver's seat, "I turned twenty-one."_

_ Franziska was surprised—Papa hadn't explained anything to her. He didn't even want her to spend time with Miles—even though she'd been waiting to see her little brother all year. "What does that have to do with anything?"_

_ Miles put his forehead against the steering wheel; he still hadn't started the car._

_ "Does he think you'll start going to get drunk?"_

_ Miles laughed, "If only it were as simple as all that."_

_ "Will you take me to a bar?"_

_ "No."_

_ "So what is Papa angry about?"_

_ "He doesn't want me to talk about it with anybody—neither does my lawyer."_

_ "You got in trouble?"_

_ "No," Miles leaned back in his seat._

_ "Well? Are you going to tell me, or not?"_

_ "Promise me you won't tell anyone? I'm still not sure what will happen to me."_

_ "I promise," she said._

_ "Cross your heart an—"_

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said and she crossed her arms, "I have given you my word."_

_ The look he gave her attested to the seriousness of the news he was about to tell her—and it also told her that he wasn't convinced that she could keep it secret._

_ "Miles, I can keep your secret," she said._

_ He swallowed and then said, "I just inherited nine hundred sixty-eight million dollars."_

_ Franziska gasped in shock and stared out the windshield at the sky. Miles was gripping the steering wheel for dear life. Franziska frowned at him._

_ "So why did you buy a stupid little car like this and not something better—like a plane or a mansion?"_

_ Miles only shook his head. He hesitated and then said, "So, as soon as I'd learned about it, I told Mister Von Karma. He's been angry with me since then."_

_ "Why?" she said, "What exactly did you tell him?"_

_ "I just told him," Miles said, "and I explained the particular situation with my trust."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "Most of that money is tied up in real estate—about sixty percent or so. The rest of it is invested and regulated by a trust. I get a stipend twice a year for life."_

_ "How much is that?" Franziska couldn't hold back her excitement—Miles liked to buy her presents—maybe the extra cash flow would be to her advantage._

_ Miles frowned. He'd released his hold on the steering wheel and started tapping the bottom of it with his thumbs, "It's just over forty thousand—just shy of eighty-five thousand per annum."_

_ Franziska stared at him, mouth agape. Miles crossed his arms and stared down at his lap._

_ "You can live very well off of that," she said, "You wouldn't have to work."_

_ "I'm not going to stop doing what I've been training toward for most of my life," Miles said._

_ Franziska frowned at him. She'd never seen Miles so troubled—and at the same time she couldn't fathom why he'd be so unhappy._

_ "I wonder why Papa is angry with you," Franziska said tapping her chin thoughtfully with her riding crop._

_ "Maybe you could ask him," Miles said, "He won't speak to me. He made me move out as soon as I'd shared this news with him."_

_ Franziska laughed, "Couldn't you buy your own mansion? How can you be upset that he kicked you out?"_

_ "I'm staying in my Aunt's old condo—apparently I own the entire complex…"_

_ "You should let me live there for free," she said._

_ Miles only frowned all the more._

_ "The estate manager sold my father's house," Miles said without any sign that he'd heard her suggestion._

_ "Did your father have a mansion too?"_

_ Miles shook his head, "My aunt was rich—my father was a well-known defense attorney. I don't recall that he was very wealthy, but I was never wont for anything."_

_ "Miles why are you worried about your father's house?"_

_ "It was the last home I lived in before—" the color rose in his face but he kept his composure, "I don't know why Mister Von Karma is acting this way toward me. I didn't ask for this."_

_ "Well, you could always just give all that money to me," Franziska said, "I'd still take care of you."_

_ He laughed suddenly and it made her smile. Then she saw the tears roll down his cheek._

_ "Miles?" She said, "What—?"_

_ He only shook his head and ran a sleeve heavy with brocade over his face._

_ "I hate this jacket," he said._

_ "You look so cute in that jacket."_

_ "You're not allowed to think I'm cute," Miles said regaining his composure._

_ "Whatever little brother," she said slipping her arm around his, "When are you planning to get lunch? I'm hungry now."_

_ Miles chuckled and started the car._

_ He drove apprehensively, still not used to driving his new car. She kept her arm on his; still absorbing the news that Miles Edgeworth was suddenly filthy rich. He was silent such that it made her nervous about breaking his concentration. After several minutes he glanced at her._

_ "Thank you Franziska," he said._

_ "For what?"_

_ "For not letting this come between us."_

_ "Oh, well, I know you'll always buy me nice things. Rich or no."_

_ Miles shook his head, but he was smiling._

* * *

"I was well within my right to take it away from you," Miles said and he held open the stairwell door for her.

"And destroy it? There's nothing right about destroying the property of others!"

"Property?" Miles said, "You mean a weapon. One that you've used against me on several occasions."

"Only because you deserved it!"

"No one deserves that," he said.

"You did," she looked down at him, he was behind her on the narrow stairwell. Miles looked up at her through his bangs, which seemed to fall out of place as he grew more livid at their argument. It was rare for her to be in a position to stare down at him—he was very handsome at that angle. If she weren't wearing those shoes, she might've taken the stairs backward the entire way up.

"Obviously, this vacillating argument is grating for both of us," he said, "Why can't you just let it go? Last night never happened."

"I might've been able to do that if you hadn't lost your mind and broke my crop!"

"Hah! I lost my mind? I seem to remember your sudden tantrum over nothing. Stop twisting the truth to serve your own needs—you're worse than your father."

Franziska stopped where she was and Miles all but ran into her.

"Tantrum! I did not have a tantrum! You just—"

"You're doing it again," Miles said his face only inches from hers.

She raised her hand to slap him but he caught it, "Don't," he said.

Franziska made a noise at him like a growl and pulled her hand away forcefully before continuing up the stairs.

"Franziska," Miles said, he was following closely behind her, "If it makes you feel better, I'll go and see Mister Von Karma, but I'd like to get this trial out of the way first."

"Oh shut up!" she said without turning to look at him, "You always say things to placate me, but you wont actually follow through."

"Oh always?" Miles said with condescending incredulity.

"It's true," she said stomping up the stairs. When he didn't respond she fumed some more and said. "What do you mean 'I'm worse than my father?'"

Miles didn't say anything, and she turned to look down at him again, "Miles Edgeworth explain yourself."

"I don't want to hurt your feelings," Miles said under his breath.

Franziska stopped on the stairs and faced him, he stopped before he bumped into her and took a step back. He was glaring at her and they were standing nearly eye to eye. Franziska felt a nervous trill through her chest and shoulders. She liked that look on him—just not quite so much when it was directed at her.

"Since when have you ever cared about my feelings?"

Miles gritted his teeth and put his head down, grabbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Why do you insist on making trouble for me?" he said.

Fine, change the subject, fool. "Don't blame me for your troubles Miles Edgeworth."

He closed his eyes and sighed. She glared harder at him. When he opened his eyes their angry stares met and they stood there in stubborn silence. Finally, he pushed past her and continued up the stairwell.

"Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted at him.

"I don't have time for this right now," he said without bothering to look at her.

Franziska stomped up to the next landing and exited the stairwell. She took the elevator the rest of the way up to the twelfth floor. Fuming all the way. Her brother was such a difficult person to deal with.

He was coming out of her father's office by the time she reached his door.

"You wasted no time did you?"

"What?" he said.

"You went and claimed my Papa's office," she crossed her arms, "Even before the sentencing trial too, I'll bet."

"Believe me, it wasn't my choice," Miles said, "the door's unlocked if you would wait for me there."

She snorted at his back derisively as he went in the opposite direction down the corridor. Aside from the few articles of furniture and that detestable brocade jacket mounted and framed on the wall, Miles hadn't changed her father's office. One wall was lined with several case files—the same case files her father kept there. She walked toward the window and stared down at the haze and the city below. A small window box with assorted flowers resting on the windowsill caught her eye. Miles was so fruity sometimes.

He still had that silly tea set and an electric kettle there, but the set was missing a cup. She opened the wooden box he kept his tea in and perused its contents before deciding that she didn't want any tea. She sat at the desk instead—its surface was polished to a mirror shine and everything, pens, papers, paperclips—everything was kept meticulously tidy. Franziska rolled her eyes and started going through the drawers of his desk.

Mostly he kept additional supplies—pens, ink, envelopes, and that sort of thing—in those drawers. But she found one that was a little more random. Miles had a set of small screwdrivers, a small pocket knife, a string of assorted rubber bands knotted in a long chain, a card box with a stack of collector cards depicting that stupid samurai show he liked, a letter she'd written him a few months ago—that made her smile—and a small velvet box. She picked up the box and examined it in her hand. Definitely jewelry—a ring or a pair of stud earrings. She shook the box near her ear and glanced at the door. Surely, he'd gotten her a gift to make up for his rudeness the last couple of weeks.

Franziska opened the box and frowned. It was definitely a ring box, but in place of the ring there was a folded note. She hesitated and then pulled out the note. She glanced at the door again before unfolding it.

'Miles darling,

We really should talk. I know this ring was important to you and I don't want you to think that I intend to keep it after all, but I don't know how else to get you to come round. I think you're being rash, darling. Daddy thinks we need a second chance—and I feel the same way too. Please call me. Don't make me wait.

Maddy'

Franziska stuck out her tongue and made a gag noise—what a sappy fool! She laughed to herself. Franziska folded the note sloppily and stuffed it back into the box. Miles had never introduced her to Maddy—all she knew was that they were engaged to be married and suddenly they weren't.

There was only one drawer left and this one was locked. She dug around in his stuff drawer for a key and unable to find one, she pulled out his little pocket knife. She paused and examined it first—the handle was colored like the suits he wore in court and there was a little white bump at one end. It took her a minute to recognize it as a little cravat. This was really weird, she giggled to herself—it was probably a gift, but the thought of Miles having the little knife made in his image was too funny.

She flipped open the blade and stuck it into the lock on that final drawer. No dice. She jiggled the drawer and tried to stick the blade between the drawer itself and the desk. She didn't notice the door open.

"Ah, at least you decided to behave," Miles said entering the office with a notepad and his organizer under his arm.

Franziska startled so hard she let the knife slip and somehow the little white plastic cravat popped off. "Oh, hi Miles."

He sat on his sofa and started flipping through his organizer. She closed his stuff drawer as inconspicuously as she could. He paused suddenly and looked up at her with a furrowed brow.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Franziska said. He made a face at her and stood to move toward his desk.

"Is there something you needed?" He asked her with a dangerous glare that swept over his desk.

"I found your stuff drawer—it was interesting," she said and grinned.

Miles frowned at her and picked up the velvet ring box she'd left on the desk by accident.

"This was my mother's," Miles said and his expression softened.

"How sweet," Franziska said, "But you knew it was empty, right?"

Miles frowned at her and opened the box, "What the—?"

He tugged the now crumpled note out of the box and his frown deepened as he read it.

"I don't believe it…" he said.

Franziska raised the still open knife above her head, "You want I should cut her?"

Miles grabbed it out of her hand, "Give me that before you hurt yourself."

Franziska rolled her eyes, "There's no need to condescend."

"I wouldn't if you'd stop acting like a child," Miles was glaring her as he flipped the knife closed and stuck it in his pocket.

"I wasn't—"

"Franziska, would you please stop fighting with me? For a change?"

"I'm not fightin—"

Miles made an exasperated noise and pointed at the door.

"You can't just kick me—"

"Now," he said.

"Am I supposed to walk—"

"I don't care what you—just go bug somebody else while I take care of some business. Then we're going home."

"What business do you have to take care of? I'm a prosecutor too. I can help."

"Franziska, I just want a moment to—"

"Why do you insist on keeping me at arms length?"

Miles raised an eyebrow at her.

"We used to be friends—but now—"

"We're still friends Franziska," he said softly.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_Something different, Franziska's POV. She seems very childish in most of this story—I wanted to point out that it's because Miles sees her that way. Also a little insight into Miles' fortune and hopefully a reasonable motive for Manfred Von Karma to frame him for muder._

_So I'm still rolling along—when I get the whole story out, I'll repost the whole thing in it's entirety (minus misspellings, inconsistencies, and the extra blah-bity-blah rampant throughout. Thanks for input on language stuff—I know nothing of German so it was a big help!)_


	29. Oblivious

**Chapter 29**

**Oblivious**

_Miles urged his mount toward the fence to greet her, but the horse raised his head when they'd arrived and started making those stupid mouth motions at the sky again. Franziska laughed and reached over the fence to take his bridle and make him stop._

_ "Mackerel," she said in a cooing voice, "Such a funny boy. Such a perfect horse for a funny rider."_

_ Miles took off his helmet and made a face at her._

_ "I don't know about this," Miles said, "He tried to kidnap me yesterday."_

_ "Nonsense, Little Brother," Franziska said and waved an index finger at him, "You just need to demand more control."_

_ Miles only frowned at her in reply and then turned his disappointed gaze toward the paddock where other riders were warming up their horses._

_ "I'm not ready for this," Miles said, "I'm going to fall off and he's going to bite me again."_

_ Franziska laughed, "Miles, Papa said you should learn to ride," Franziska raised her nose as she condescended, "It will teach you to take better control and it is much more refined an activity than football."_

_ Miles only frowned. He didn't see how animal husbandry was 'refined'. _

_ "I don't understand why we have to come out here, we can do this at the house," Miles said._

_ "It's just for fun," Franziska said, "I'm going to get Grani."_

_ "Wait," Miles said but Franziska bounded off with out him. He groaned inwardly and put his helmet back on. He stared at the other riders across the paddock while twisting the reins in his gloved hands. This was just wrong._

_ The horse was Franziska's idea. Miles felt no connection or even friendship toward the animal—and he was certain the horse felt the same way about him. As a joke Miles named him Mackerel because the horse would stand around and push out his lips like a fish—Franziska thought it was an awesome name. Miles was certain she had no idea what a Mackerel was._

_ Cautiously Miles tapped the horse with his heels, and Mackerel bolted. Miles pulled on the reins in a panic, "Wait! Wait! No!"_

_ The horse stopped in the middle of the paddock and put his head down to lick Mile's boot. Miles frowned as the horse turned in circles in an attempt to get a direct angle on that boot._

_ "Stop it!" Miles said, not yet realizing that his uneven pull on the reins kept Mackerel turning._

_ The horse lost patience and jerked his head away from Miles and caught the bit in his teeth. He was swinging his head in an attempt to jerk the rein away from Miles—but Miles had wrapped them around his hands. Mackerel bucked once and then bolted across the paddock. At the fence the horse reared and then turned and bolted in the other direction._

_ Everyone cleared the field, there was laughter and whooping as Mackerel went back and forth. Miles wrapped his arms around the horse's neck and shut his eyes. He was certain he was going to be killed, but he hung on anyway, willing the stupid horse to stop. Then the horse stopped._

_ Miles didn't move. What if Mackerel got all excited again? Plus everyone was watching. The laughing hadn't died down. There several comments about rodeos—that's what Americans did—so naturally Edgeworth was only trying to practice some rodeo stylings during his warm up. Miles was starting to wish he had died._

_ People had approached Mackerel, even though his eyes were closed—Miles noted the change in light and the crowding shadows. Someone grabbed him bodily and pulled him off of the horse. He was placed gently on the grass, and shadows crowded around him._

_ The first thing he saw was Franziska standing over him, nearly silhouetted against the bright sky above. She was wearing her riding habit and her little hands were fisted and resting on her hips. Miles bit the inside of his lip and clenched his fists, trying to maintain his composure._

_ "Miles Edgeworth, why did you do that?" Franziska said._

_ "He just took off without me," Miles said._

_ "Are you hurt?" Miles didn't know the man, but he'd seen him working near the stables—probably someone else's groom._

_ "I'm fine," Miles said._

_ "Come everyone back up. Give him some air."_

_ Someone slid their hands under his armpits and he was dragged up into a standing position. Miles swayed where he stood._

_ He glared at Franziska when he'd steadied himself, "Are you happy now?"_

_ "Miles you failed!" She said pointing her riding crop at his nose, "You'll just have to try again."_

_ Miles sighed and trudged toward the paddock gate, pausing only pick up his helmet and his riding crop. Apparently he'd dropped them. Franziska was skipping along next to him._

_ "You'll learn to like it!" she said._

* * *

Miles entered the apartment glumly and dropped his coat, his case, and also his jacket on the floor. Even as Mister Wellington began his inquiry Miles walked away from him and trudged toward his room. He paced furiously as he undid his cravat and when he was finished with that he ran his fingers through his hair tugging at it as if pulling his hair would make everything go his way.

He was still pacing when Wellington entered looking rather concerned at Miles' antics.

"Sir, are you quite—"

"No," Miles said, more forcefully than he'd intended. Wellington flinched.

"I'm sorry Mister Wellington," Miles said looking embarrassed at his having lost his temper with the old man, "I… Well, they've postponed the trial again."

Wellington smiled, "Well sir, you can't be angry with yourself about that. It wasn't you're decision."

"But that's the thing," Miles said, "Something's going on here. I've never been more ready to take a case to trial. I feel like someone's trying to stall so that—"

"Miles, dear boy," Wellington said, "I think your fears are unfounded. If you're ready today, you'll be ready when they decide to go forward again."

Miles was looking at the old man gravely; he still had his hands in his hair, his elbows over his shoulders, and held that position for a moment. Miles dropped his arms and sat on his bed.

"It doesn't seem right," Miles said.

Wellington took up Miles' cravat from the chair he'd thrown it in and started putting his things away. Miles stared at the floor.

"You're stressed out," Wellington said.

"I'm fine," Miles said.

He sat silently for a moment longer and then stood up to grab a shirt and a pair of jeans from a dresser drawer. He carried the clothing under his arm and went into the bathroom.

"Oh, and Mister Edgeworth," Wellington called, "Miss Von Karma called a few minutes before you came in. She said that you'd dropped her off at the courthouse. I told her to call again when she wanted to come back."

Miles didn't answer but continued to dress down. He didn't care what Franziska did. Especially since she was going to do whatever she wanted whether he allowed it or not.

Miles tugged his jeans up and buttoned them. He frowned when they slipped down below his hips—he'd have to wear a belt. He didn't have very many jeans and he only wore them rarely and only because he'd ruined too many pairs of slacks when Pess decided to drag him around in the grass. Miles frowned at the unhappy young man staring back him from the mirror. He was owl-eyed and drawn. Odd, the nightmares had stopped.

He took up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth before exiting the bathroom to pull a dark tee shirt over the white one he wore under his dress shirt. He found a belt to cinch the jeans that threatened to slide right off of his—well…

"Pess," Miles called when he exited his room, "Come on girl."

Pess ran up to him tail wagging and tongue lolling. She hopped up a few times happy to see him. At least someone was always happy to see him.

"Would you like to stay for luncheon, Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles turned to look at Wellington—his arms still around Pess' neck—and wondered where he'd come from.

"No," Miles said, "I'm going to take Pess out for a bit."

"Mrs. Kucharka is worried that you're getting thin," Wellington said.

Miles hands flew reflexively to his stomach, he almost smiled, "I'm fine. Tell her I'll stop and get something while I'm out."

"Very well, sir," Wellington said.

Miles grabbed the first jacket he found in the closet and lead Pess out of the flat.

In the quiet of the stairwell Miles paused and said, "I don't know, girl. Maybe I'm starting to slip."

Pess cocked her head at him and then licked his hand.

"Yeah," Miles said, "we should go."

They went all the way down to the garage where he grabbed a small foam football and a Frisbee from a bin he kept there. Outside it was sunny with only a bit of the lingering winter chill. It will be cold when the sun sets, Miles thought as he gazed up at the sky. He was so clever to come out early.

Pess seemed to soak in some of his excitement and kept up an eager but steady pace as they walked. Miles was feeling better already—even if it wasn't obvious by his posture—sunglasses, head down, and hands in his pockets. He was great as long as he didn't have to talk to anyone.

The walk was pleasant—with no interruptions—and Miles even smiled a little as they entered Expose Park. Pess was wagging her tail furiously and started tugging at the leash. She all but dragged him across the park.

"Pess!" Miles said.

She stopped and looked at him tail still wagging. Miles moved to shorten the distance between them on the leash—so he could better control her—and then Pess bolted.

"Hey what!"

She pulled him along across the park until eventually he tripped and fell. She managed to drag him for several feet before she noticed. The big dog stopped and put her front paws on his shoulders and began licking his face and ears excitedly.

He was still flustered from her dragging him, but as she continued, Miles started to laugh. He swung his arms out to push her big head away, "Stop!"

Pess slowed down and since he was on the ground, she lay on top of him.

"You're trying to kill me…" he muttered. Pess was looking around, her tongue lolling from her doggy grin. She paused to lick him once after he spoke before turning her attention elsewhere.

Miles started to sit up, bringing his head and shoulders off of the ground.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

Miles didn't see who she was but he dropped his head back on the ground with a groan. Pess was wagging her tail vigorously—he could tell because she was still sitting on him. Pess barked once and her significant weight shifted and then left him.

The woman or women made nervous gasps. Miles put his hands on his face.

"Pess," he said.

Pess sat near him—he could feel her wagging tail hitting his thigh.

"She wont hurt you," Miles said to whoever it was still standing in his vicinity.

"Miles Edgeworth? Is that you?"

Miles popped up on his elbows and looked up to see Doctor Young and Gina the EMT. They were each carrying soft pretzels and fru-fru iced coffee in clear cups.

"Seriously?" Miles said—maybe a little louder than he'd intended. He flipped over onto his stomach and put his hands over his head like a prisoner.

"Mister Edgeworth?" It must've been Gina, because her voice didn't grate on his psyche the way Chihiro's did, "We saw her drag you across the park. You're not hurt are you?"

"I'm fine," Miles grumbled into the grass.

"Can I pet your dog?" That was definitely the Doctor.

"Sure," he said.

"Why are you lying like that?" Gina said and he could feel her shadow and her presence fall over him as she knelt beside him. She was well inside his bubble.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"I'M FINE!" Miles said, "I'm just… um… relaxing." So I don't have to interact with you two, he added mentally.

Gina laughed and her hand fell onto his shoulder and he stiffened beneath her touch.

"Well okay," she said, "I guess you just want some time alone."

She stood and moved away.

"That's very perceptive of you," Miles said sardonically into the grass, but he relaxed some.

"She's sooo nice," Chihiro said, "What kind of dog is she?"

"I don't know," Miles said.

"Is she Akita Inu?" Gina said.

"I don't know," Miles said.

"She's a Chow-chow mix?" Chihiro said, "Maybe?"

"Maybe a Shepherd mix?" Gina said.

"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!" Miles said and he put his hands into the grass to push himself up. He sat and glared at them. Pess cocked her head and made an inquisitive noise.

"Um…" Chihiro said.

"Yeah," Gina said, "We're supposed to be meeting someone."

They both turned and started to walk away.

Miles exhaled in a flooding relief. Pess licked his ear.

* * *

_He arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early. It wouldn't do to keep someone like Madeline Tailor waiting. He couldn't refuse her invitation—it was hand written—and the perfume was a nice touch. Mister Von Karma had warned him about wasting time with the victims or accepting offers of thanks. But this was Madeline Tailor!_

_ Even Mister Von Karma had nothing to say, when Miles told him about the invitation._

_ "It'll do you good to meet new people," Von Karma had said. Albeit rather dismissively._

_ "Well," a bluff male voice said, "If it isn't our favorite Prosecutor!"_

_ Madeline was being escorted by her father. Miles forced himself to smile, he wasn't sure how he felt about an escort. Then he cringed inwardly, did he have the wrong idea?_

_ "Good evening, Miles Edgeworth," Madeline said, offering a gloved hand to Miles._

_ "Good evening, Madeline," Miles said._

_ "Daddy," she said, "We'll be off now, please don't wait up for me."_

_ "All right, peanut," Mister Tailor said, "You don't let nothing happen to my little peanut, Edgeworth!"_

_ Miles nodded emphatically and suddenly Mister Tailor was gone. Madeline wrapped her arm around his and smiled up at him._

_ "I'm sorry, darling," she said, "My father is a little possessive sometimes. Shall we be off?"_

_ "Sure," Miles said. He was nervous as he walked out of the department store with Madeline perched on his arm like some exotic bird. They had to rush, and even still, they were stopped several times so that Madeline could greet her admirers._

_ They left out of a side entrance, where a black stretch Lincoln waited for them. Madeline all but shoved him inside as he tried to open the door for her. She shoved him across the seat as she followed in._

_ "Come on," she said emphatically, "Come on, come on."_

_ The car started moving even before they'd settled, and both of them were busied adjusting their clothing and hair. When they were reasonably composed, Madeline yanked off her sunglasses and leaned toward him._

_ "So sorry about that, darling," Madeline said._

_ "It's quite all right, Miss Tailor," Miles said he sat up and placed his hands on his knees._

_ "Please, Miles, call me Maddy," she'd moved one of her gloved hands so that it rested near his own hand, she was leaning closer and closer toward him—as told by the increasing pressure on his thigh._

_ "Er… Maddy," he said. Miles offered another nervous smile._

_ "Miles," she said, "I'm so glad of this, I could never thank you enough for everything—"_

_ Miles nodded, "Just doing my job—"_

_ "Oh, Miles," she said and placed a hand on each of his cheeks and moved his head toward her, "So modest…"_

_ "Eh… Maddy?"_

_ Maddy answered him with a kiss. At first Miles accepted and moved along with her—then abruptly he pulled away and slid over to one side of the car—away from her._

_ "Miles! What was—"_

_ Miles shook his head, still panting from his sudden panic._

_ "I'm sorry," he said as he regained his composure, "I didn't think this was a—um…"_

_ "A date?" Madeline said._

_ "Er…" Miles said._

_ She slid toward him and he shoved himself against the wall of the limousine._

_ "What's wrong? Haven't you ever had a girlfriend before?"_

_ "Girlfriend?"_

_ Madeline was on top of him again, and Miles had nowhere to go._

_ "Miles, please just—" she said._

_ "Hold on!" Miles said and he sat up and glared at her, "It isn't right to just—um… Do this—What we're doing… When we barely know each other. What would your father say?"_

_ Maddy sat back and blinked at him._

_ "If you'd like to spend a civilized evening together," Miles continued, "I would be quite amenable to that, however, this is certainly not civilized behavior and I refuse to be tangled up in it—I am a gentleman after all."_

_ Maddy was still staring at him wide-eyed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. Her eyes bored into him._

_ "I'm sorry Darling," Maddy said, "But I—"_

_ Miles gave her a sidelong glance brow raised, but that was all he was willing to communicate._

_ Maddy composed herself and straightened her dress and her hair. She looked toward her window away from him and pulled out a compact._

_ "I didn't mean to offend you, Miles Edgeworth," she said and dabbed her nose, "It's just that—well I've known you for nearly two years. We really are quite old friends, aren't we darling?"_

_ Miles didn't say anything._

_ "Never the less, dear, I can see that you're uncomfortable with… uh… Physical affection—"_

_ "I didn't know this was a date," Miles said quietly, "I thought… ….I just thought it was something else…"_

_ "Darling, I've been enamored of you ever since we first met," Maddy said with her big blue eyes earnestly locked on his face, "Ever since you sat me down in the witness lobby and you told me to 'siddown an' answer the question, sweetheart!'"_

_ "I never…" Miles said._

_ "You never asked me out is what it was, darling," she said, "I couldn't—I just couldn't let you go. Daddy said, 'let it go, peanut, he's probably already taken.' But I couldn't leave it at that. I thought about you all the time."_

_ "Didn't you—" Miles said, remembering his second case that involved Maddy._

_ Maddy nodded, "Danny. It was so horrible, so hard to accept that Danny is dead. That trial—I didn't want any part of it. I was so frightened and all of the attention was just too much—but there you were again. My knight in shining armor," Miles was staring at her agape—still she showed no signs of stopping._

_ "I still remember the first time I came in to talk to you before the trial," Maddy waggled her finger at him, "Oh you again,' you said and then, "I'd appreciate it if you'd take off your sunglasses,' and then I knew—I just knew I'd be just fine. Because I had you to help me and carry me through. Then, the trial was over, and you were gone again. I told Daddy, 'Daddy, I'll just die if Miles doesn't ask me out—I'll just die!' and Daddy went asking around to find out if you were seeing someone else—and he found out that all you did was lawyer lawyer all day everyday and he said, 'Maddy, that boy will lawyer himself into an early grave!' and so I knew that if we didn't start dating each other we would both die! There is no way around it—WE WERE MEANT TO BE!"_

_ "Do people really die from lawyering?" Miles said, "Wait, I don't think that's a thing. I'm perfectly healthy anyway so don't worry about me. I don't think you're in any danger, either."_

_ "Miles, broken hearts are real…" Maddy said._

_ "Hmm," Miles said, "I think you're more likely to die from histrionics."_

_ Maddy was quiet for several moments and Miles started to relax. Then she looked at him directly, her large azure eyes were spellbinding and he found he couldn't look away._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Maddy said, "If you don't want to date me, why'd you even bother showing up?"_

_ "It was a very nice invitation," Miles said._

_ "I made it myself, darling," Maddy said._

_ "Well now," Miles said, "I'm impressed."_

_ "So… Are you saying that you will never ever want to be my boyfriend?"_

_ "I never said that—" Miles began._

_ "Stop wasting time darling!"_

_ Miles didn't even flinch when she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him._

* * *

Miles sat with his back to the table while Larry droned on about some girl he was supposedly dating. Every now and then he held out the ice cream cone in his hand so that Pess could lick it. He frowned at his jeans. They were covered with grass stains, vanilla ice cream, and dirt—Miles leaned in closer—he really hoped that was dirt.

"Butz can you come over here and smell my knee?"

Larry stopped mid-sentence, "Huh?"

"Hey, Edgey, did you just ask me to smell your knee?"

Miles put his foot up on the seat so that his knee was in close proximity to Larry's face, "yeah."

"Um…" Larry said, "Why?"

"I can't tell if that's mud or dog shit."

"No way," Larry said, "You're trying to knee me in the face."

"Why would I—" Miles exhaled in frustration, "Fine, whatever…"

He put his foot back on the ground and glared at people walking in the park. He caught a glimpse of Gumshoe's trench coat and flinched. Fortunately, Gumshoe was hurrying away in the other direction. He followed the detective's little figure as he went deeper into the park eventually disappearing into foliage.

"Damn," Larry said behind him, "I think my heart just stopped."

"I'm sure it hasn't," Miles muttered as he offered the ice cream to Pess.

"My God she's hot," Larry said, "Heaven in a pantsuit…"

Miles chuckled and licked his ice cream cone. Then Pess stood and tugged at the leash.

"She's coming this way," Larry squealed like a fangirl.

Miles turned and he actually felt his heart stop—not for the same reason as Larry—but there was definitely a cold icy grip on his ticker. Larry stood up and offered her his hand.

"Hey girl," Larry said and Miles put his face in his hands and his ice cream cone fell in his lap.

"Edgeworth," Lana Skye said.

"Oh hey, you know my friend Edge—" Larry started.

"Afternoon Chief," Miles said, he sat up and Pess came to his rescue—lapping up ice cream and effectively blocking Chief from approaching any closer to him.

"Hey," Larry poked him in the back, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Uh…" Miles was startled at Larry's touch, "Chief, this is Larry Butz—"

"We're like best friends," Larry cut in. Miles shot him a warning glance.

"Butz, this is my boss, Lana Skye," Miles said. Lana nodded at the introduction, but she was smiling at Miles.

"I didn't know you had a dog Edgeworth," she said.

"A man ought to have friends he can rely on," Miles said and jerked his head at Larry.

Lana laughed and reached over to scratch Pess behind her ears.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said and locked eyes with Miles.

Miles swallowed, this had the potential to hit several levels of not good.

"Not at all," Larry said, "Why don't you sit down?"

Lana hesitated and then sat on Miles' other side, directly across from Larry.

"I'm glad you're taking the time to unwind, Miles," she said, "I was worried about you when you left."

Miles made a noise in his throat as his only acknowledgement.

"Hey, Edgey, did you have a bad day?" Larry said, "Is that why you came to meet your best bud at the park?"

"Sure," Miles said noncommittally. He crossed his arms refusing to look at either of them. Maybe they'd just go away. He could feel them moving behind him, their shadows breaking up and shifting the light.

Pess whimpered and lay her head in his lap.

"So, Larry is it?" Lana said.

"Yeah," Larry said.

"How do you know Miles?"

"We were kids together," Larry said, "I taught him everything he knows."

Lana laughed, "Oh really?"

"Sure," Larry said, "Edgeworth is such a lost cause—that's what everyone said. But I never gave up on him. And look at him now—"

"I have to go," Miles said and he stood abruptly and led Pess away.

As he walked he wondered if Larry would start a relationship with his boss—this might work out to his advantage. Miles frowned at his thoughts—ever since Vegas, Chief seemed… Well… Sort of desperate. But Larry? Really?

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned at his feet. Larry always had more girlfriends than he did—of course Chief would fall for someone like Larry. Chief only kissed you because she was lonely… and desperate… Franziska was probably the only one that liked him like that—but that was weird… Not to mention wrong on so many levels… Well… There was that Wendy person, who'd sent flowers last month. Miles smiled—he could expect a new arrangement in the next few days. Wendy was punctual. Wendy seemed to know what he liked.

He only wished he could remember who that was…

"You don't need a girlfriend," he said under his breath. After a year with Maddy, it was nice to just do whatever he wanted.

"Miles!" Miles turned in surprise to see Lana jogging toward him. Then he frowned Larry was coming too.

"Hey Edgey!"

Miles stopped walking.

"Edgeworth," Lana said, "Why'd you run off?"

"I wasn't…" He said.

"Dude," Larry said, "You just took off. Are you mad, bro?"

"I'm not," Miles said—not really sure what Larry was calling him.

"Larry," Lana said, "Thanks for helping me, but I need to speak with Miles alone now."

"Oh," Larry said and he glanced skeptically at Miles, "Just for a little bit?"

"Just a little bit," Lana said.

Larry smacked Miles on his shoulder and pointed at him like Wright making an objection in court. "Just be cool, man. Be easy."

Miles stared at Larry as he walked back toward ice cream stand, "Right."

Lana was standing in front of him now; they were nearly toe-to-toe. She was laughing. Miles frowned—was she laughing at him?

"Oh, that guy," Lana said, "Do you really know each other?"

Miles nodded solemnly, "He works at the ice cream stand."

"Oh," Lana said.

"Do you want to walk?"

"Sure," Lana fell into step with him.

"So you just left work?" Miles asked.

"Yes," Lana said, "I had to swing by the Police Department, and I just needed a little fresh air."

Miles nodded.

"I just needed to relax a bit."

Miles nodded.

"Obviously you had the same idea," Lana said, "He really is a beautiful dog; and very well behaved."

Miles nodded.

"You know the only other time I've seen you so casually dressed was at the baseball game," Lana said.

Miles paused and looked at her, "She."

"What?"

"My dog, she's a female," Miles said.

"Oh," Lana said slightly perplexed. They continued walking in silence for several minutes. Miles was very tense and the hand gripping Pess's leash was starting to ache with how tightly he was squeezing his fist.

"So," Miles said and he put his hands in his pockets, "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh I don't know," Lana said, "I was just trying to get rid of that guy."

"Butz?"

"Yeah," she said, "So… I can't stop thinking about you…"

They both stopped and Lana moved to stand in front of him. Miles had that same feeling in his chest as when she first approached them. His breathing became shallow as he looked down at her.

"Why?" He wanted to kick himself after the word escaped his lips.

"Miles, tell me you didn't feel anything when we—"

Miles gasped a little and raised a hand to run through his hair, "In Las Vegas? I thought we weren't going to—"

"Miles, I can't—" she moved in closer to him, "stop thinking about you. Seeing you every day isn't very—"

"It's only been two days…" Miles said—not quite catching her drift.

Lana moved in closer still—Miles all but jumped back to put space between them.

"You should keep back," he said, "I am VERY dirty right now."

"Oh," Lana said and he could see her gaze sliding over his figure. Miles frowned, he was a little sweaty from playing in the park; he was covered in grass, ice cream, and dirt—quite possibly dog shit as well—this was just too embarrassing.

"You naughty boy," Lana said, teasing him coquettishly, "You're just covered in filth."

Lana leaned toward him again and Miles' nervousness increased—Pess growled at Lana. She must've sensed his discomfort and interjected to protect him. Miles yanked on the leash and backed away.

Lana crossed her arms and made a face like something smelled bad—Miles was certain it was him—and she said, "I see."

"Chief, I'm sorry," Miles said and he pulled on Pess's collar, "I don't know what's gotten into her."

Lana relaxed and then she chuckled at him, "Oh, all right. I have to get going anyway. Would it be okay if I called you some time?"

Miles frowned at her, "Chief you call me all the time."

She made a frustrated noise and turned to walk away, "Good bye, Mister Edgeworth."

"Bye Chief," Miles said and his frown deepened. She's probably going to see Larry…

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! **_

_In the first flashback Miles is 13 or 14. Apparently he doesn't have "soft hands". _

_Second flash back is just over a year ago—his first date with Maddy. He's 23. If you've been wondering about Maddy's speech pattern, she has a transatlantic accent. If you're not into older movies, think Rarity from MLP. _

_LOL… Miles is a little jealous of Larry. "Are you mad bro?"—I couldn't help myself._


	30. Letting Her Win

**Chapter 30**

**Letting Her Win**

"_Prosecutor Edgeworth," Chief Skye said, "I did have one other thing I wanted to ask you about."_

_Miles didn't remove his hand from the doorknob—he was already feeling anxious about being alone with her in her office—he just wanted to get out of a suddenly very awkward environment. He always felt a little silly when he was alone with Chief._

"_It's about Manfred Von Karma," she said stonily, "Please, sit back down."_

_Miles balked for a moment and then returned to the commanding leather sofa and sat down, blushing when the leather made rude noises beneath him._

_When he looked up at her, Chief looked like she wanted to laugh—his blush must have deepened because she actually let out a chuckle before fixing a cold stony gaze on him._

"_Well," Miles said focusing intently on his hands._

"_Do you know where he went?" She wasted no time on pleasantry._

"_Uh," Miles said—Mister Von Karma had ordered him to keep quiet about his latest trip abroad. He never even told Miles why he was going—Miles had only discovered the location by accident; and only because they still maintained a close proximity to each other while at work._

"_I'm not really sure," he said finally, still refusing to meet Chief's eye._

"_You're not sure?" Chief said and crossed her arms, "That seems odd—you wouldn't lie to me, would you Edgeworth?"_

_Miles' brow furrowed—he had always had trouble lying—uncertainty was the best cover he could come up with, "Yeah Mister Von Karma doesn't always tell me his personal business."_

"_Doesn't he?" Chief said and Miles bit the inside of his lip._

_She got up from her desk and sat beside him on the sofa. It made more embarrassing noises as she slid in very close beside him._

"_Tell me Edgeworth, why are you so loyal to Prosecutor Von Karma—he's not very nice to you is he?"_

"_He's… He's fine," Miles said, "We have a long history—he's ever been a mentor and… and a f-f-friend."_

_Chief snorted with derision, "You're a very strange young man, Prosecutor Edgeworth," she said._

_ "Oh, I suppose," Miles said with a forced laugh—he slid away from her. Chief seemed to take the hint and stood up to pace in front of him._

_ "Chief Gant—over at the police department—he told me that Von Karma had presented 'questionable' evidence in the Mertaugh trial last week. So I've been conducting an internal investigation here—we can't trace it. What do you know about this questionable evidence?"_

_ Miles frowned up at her with no small measure of defiance, "He's a genius—those rumors are unfounded. Mister Von Karma would never—"_

_ Chief clicked her tongue in irritation, "Miles we all know how much you love Von Karma—but you can't blind yourself to what's actually going on. There was something very suspicious about the Murtaugh case—and this wasn't the first questionable incident either."_

_ Miles had nothing to say to that but he frowned at his hands._

_ "Some of your cases are starting to take on the same stink as Von Karma's—and you're not quite so big a fish as Manfred Von Karma."_

_ Miles stood at what he thought sounded a lot like a threat and bristled at his boss's boss._

_ "Chief Skye, I assure you that I've followed every written procedure affecting my trials. I would never allow falsified—"_

_ "Not if you knew about it," Chief said with a quiet calm that unnerved him all the more. Miles just stared at her—had he presented falsified evidence or testimony in any of his trials? How could he know?_

_ "Mister Von Karma would never allow such illegal actions…" Miles said quietly as if trying to convince himself. He looked up at Chief pleadingly._

_ "You're a good kid Edgeworth," Chief Skye said and turned away from him, "But you need to choose sides—because you won't be able to hide in Manfred Von Karma's shadow for ever."_

_ Miles nodded, he wasn't sure how to respond to that. He left her office without a parting. The only thing he got out of that was the beginning of a doubt—and doubt was a very destructive force in this line of work._

* * *

Miles got in early this morning—aside from security, no one else was in the building with him. There were four levels of the municipal building set aside for the District Attorney—floors nine through twelve. The other twenty floors when to other departments in the district—Commerce, Water and Sewage, Public Works—what have you. Miles had never felt the need to explore all of them—although he had been forced to walk through the Public Works department once because Detective Gumshoe had gotten lost. That had been very eye opening.

The first thing he did—after starting the kettle and the computer—was review his case for the Honeymoon Trial. Nothing was going to prevent him getting his conviction this time. Miles Edgeworth had planned for anything. The delay was frustrating and the defense had given no reply as to the expected trial date.

He flipped through the evidence list and compared them with his reports and his own notes. Then he spotted something.

"The one factor that held up the last trial—the Sheinheilig brothers were twins…" Miles said aloud, "But _are_ they identical?"

It certainly seemed the case in the childhood photo the defense had proffered up. However, despite the obvious resemblance the two men shared as brothers, they certainly didn't look like identical twins.

"Aha!" Miles said and picked up his phone and dialed.

It rang several times before a groggy Gumshoe answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Gumshoe, I need you to get a sample from Albert Sheinheilig and run it up to the lab—I want a full DNA profile."

"Urm," Gumshoe muttered, "It's like five in the morning…"

"Five forty-seven," Miles said glancing at his watch, "It's rather closer to six o'clock, I'd say. Can you—"

"Mister Edgeworth, it's six a.m.! Nothing is open yet—the sun hasn't risen yet."

"Oh, right," Miles said turning to glance at the sky through the window, "Well, set yourself a reminder—I want to make sure it's being processed before the end of the day."

"Roger," Gumshoe replied half-heartedly.

"Gumshoe, did I really just wake you up?"

"Yes," Gumshoe said.

"Shouldn't you be on your way to work by now?"

"Er," the detective grumbled on the other line, "I was on my way…"

"I'd like you to come by here about nine o'clock," Miles said, "I'm sure most of these case files will need to go back to your department."

"Yes sir," Gumshoe said.

"Very well, then," Miles said, "I'll see you then."

"Yes sir," Gumshoe said, "And Mister Edgeworth?"

"Why are you in there before six a.m.?"

"Never mind that," Miles snapped and he hung up the phone.

He finished checking and rechecking through his files for the Honeymoon case and then set everything neatly aside. There was a box on the floor near his desk and Miles went to pick it up and put it on his desk. He pulled the lid off and peered inside. Miles shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his sleeves up and then he got to work.

He flipped through each case and examined the police work and the conclusions they'd settled on. A child missing; another racehorse stolen; a single homicide. three shootings in public places—one with multiple victims, and a few others not quite so glamorous.

He took notes on each case—studying everything provided in the case files—and made a few comments to whom ever would be investigating further. He wrote them by hand on a yellow legal pad. He preferred to write these by hand, typing on the computer just felt inefficient.

When Miles had finished his analysis of the first case he tore the notes off of the pad and reached toward a cup on his desk where he kept his paperclips. He only brought out one, but the others in the cup all came out with it—someone had decided to link all of his paperclips together. Miles muttered a curse under his breath, and spent the next forty minutes separating all of the paperclips and dropping them back into the cup. Then he proceeded through the pile of case files in front of him. At about ten after eight he had completed the task and had all of the files placed neatly into the box—bored, Miles decided they ought to be in chronological order as well.

At eight twenty he stood and finished the current cup of tea and then began pacing his office. By this time, the bright, jovial morning sun had risen and a cheery golden light filled his office. Miles tugged the shades closed to lessen the distracting light. He picked up his kettle and his teapot and brought them into the bathroom.

Miles had just returned with the freshly filled kettle and a washed out teapot when someone knocked on his door. He'd been expecting Detective Gumshoe, so when he saw her he stared at her for a moment and then shut the door.

"Miles!" she said the pitch of her voice rose high in complaint.

"I'm very busy right now Maddy, I can't—"

"Open the door, Miles," she said.

Miles grumbled for a few moments before opening the door again. She followed him silently seething as he led her to the sofa. Miles refused to sit beside her.

"I don't have time for this," Miles said, "I'm in the middle of—"

"Oh darling, if I wait for you to find some free time, we'll never get the chance to settle this."

Miles glared at her and leaned slightly bent against his desk, arms crossed.

"You look very well, Miles," Maddy said.

"As do you," Miles replied stiffly.

"Well see there, darling? Isn't it nice to have a civil conversation?"

Miles shook his head, "I thought we'd already settled this."

"Miles," Maddy said and she looked up at him over the top of her sunglasses. She lifted her left hand and waggled her fingers at him, "I was wrong, darling. I'm sorry."

"No," Miles said, "Just give it back. I don't want anything else to do with you."

"Oh Miles," she said, "Why are you so heartless?"

"I'm heartless? You're the one who left me—on Christmas no less!"

"Everyone is prone to making poor decisions sometimes, darling," Maddy said and she pulled off her sunglasses to stare up at him. Miles met her stare directly and swallowed. Then he looked away.

"Yes," he said, "I made a poor decision when I agreed to enter into a relationship with the likes of you."

Maddy pouted—Miles found it maddening. Naturally, he was flooded with relief when another knock sounded at his door. Miles didn't spare Maddy a glance as he moved to answer it.

"Detective Gumshoe!" Miles said with a very forced cheeriness. The detective was chuckling as he entered the office. Gumshoe peered curiously at Maddy.

"Oh, is it a bad time, Mister Edgeworth?"

"Not at all," Miles said, "Miss Tailor was just leave—"

"Miles, dear," Maddy interjected, "You go ahead and finish what you need to, I have time. I'll wait darling."

Miles glared at her and she smirked back and slipped on her sunglasses.

"So Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said with a self-satisfied grin, "I ran a swab from the brother over to the lab and they said they'd be able to get the profile to you by the end of the week."

Miles rubbed his chin and frowned, "And that's the earliest?"

"Yeah pal—Mister Edgeworth, sir," Gumshoe said, "I'm pretty sure these things can take much longer in most cases."

"I never thought I'd say this," Miles said, "but I hope the trial is postponed long enough for them to complete their analysis."

Miles frowned as he noticed the detective's eyes flipping from his face to where Maddy was lounging on his sofa.

"Detective," Miles said, he motioned toward the file box on his desk, "that needs to go back to criminal affairs—not a single one of those is ready to go to trial."

Gumshoe met his eye and frowned and then glanced toward Maddy again, "Hey, is that your girlfriend?"

Miles grimaced at him, "No she's not."

"Oh," Gumshoe said absently, "She's very pretty. I thought she was a movie st—"

"If you feel like you don't need to listen to me, I won't feel the need to provide a favorable quarterly report…"

"Sorry, sir," Gumshoe said and he rubbed his neck and moved to pick up the box on Miles' desk. Miles shot a glance at Maddy who was trying to look busy by turning pages on a tiny pocket calendar book she kept with her. Miles had an idea suddenly, and he almost smiled—almost.

Gumshoe had already picked up the box and was walking toward the door when Miles spoke up.

"I would be grateful if you would return my property to me," Miles said aloud.

"Miles, don't you start—" Maddy protested.

"If you refuse, I'll be forced to consider this a theft."

"Miles, this is nothing of the sort—"

"Did you take something from Mister Edgeworth?" Gumshoe said rounding on Maddy.

"I most certainly did not!" Maddy said incredulously.

Miles' brow furrowed significantly and he waggled a finger at her, "Do you or do you not continue to retain physical control of the ring—a ring of considerable monetary and sentimental value and a long time heirloom of the Edgeworth family? Well? Are you going to answer or not Maddy?"

Maddy tore the sunglasses off of her face, "Miles you gave it to me when you—"

"That is no longer going to happen, Maddy. I suggest you return the ring to me and also that you refrain from contacting me in any manner from this day forward."

Detective Gumshoe had already set the files down on the floor at his feet and was scribbling manically into his little notepad. He paused and looked at Miles.

"Mister Edgeworth, you gave her a ring? Were you going to marry _her_?"

"Not now Gumshoe," Miles said and he crossed his arms gravely, "this is a very serious matter."

"Hey Pal," Gumshoe continued, "You never said anything to anybody."

"Detective," Maddy said, "It's true, Miles Edgeworth was going to marry me on Valentine's Day on a beach in Belize—"

"I never agreed to go to Belize!" Miles said.

"All you complained about were the bugs! How do you know there are so many bugs there? Huh? You've never been! DAR-ling!"

"Well sweet-HEART! You never really cared what I wanted, did you? You just followed your own plan with everything! Never mind that I get seasick! Never mind that I despise all of your vapid entourage! You know," Miles said, "I don't know who wanted me in the family more—you or you're father!"

"Didn't I prove it to you, DEAR?!" Maddy was standing now, "How often did you cancel our dates so you could stay here and play errand boy to that Manfred Von—"

"Don't lecture me on doing my job!" Miles jabbed his finger at her.

They continued back and forth for several minutes and Miles didn't notice Gumshoe staring at the two of them; mouth open and eyes wide in shock. Nor did he notice when the big detective picked up the file box and left his office.

They were both out of breath and hoarse when it ended, but they continued to glare at each other maliciously from opposite sides of the room.

Maddy sighed and put her glasses back on; she looked like she was going to cry. Miles gritted his teeth—he really wanted to see her cry. Finally Maddy raised her chin and brushed at her hair where it had fallen over her face during their bickering. Miles copied her subconsciously—dragging a hand through his hair to push it away from his face.

In the end she tugged the ring off of her finger and dropped it unceremoniously into his hand. Then she departed his office with no final word and no lingering departing glance. Miles exhaled in relief and leaned against his desk to collect his thoughts.

* * *

_"Blue Corp Edgeworth, tell me you've heard of it!"_

_ Miles was still hunched pitifully in one of the chairs Mister Von Karma had for guests in front of his massive desk. He sat with his chin in his hand, looking a lot like a dog that'd been beaten too often._

_ It had been three days since he lost his first trial. Miles had made a valiant effort to avoid a direct interaction like the one they were having now. The thought of jumping through Mister Von Karma's window seemed pleasant compared to the dread he had of Mister Von Karma's wrath—and worse—his disappointment._

_ "Yes," Miles said, almost inaudibly._

_ "That's a third of my information resource," Mister Von Karma said._

_ Miles might have been startled by the revelation if he wasn't in fear of his very life. Mister Von Karma was probably going to kill him. Never mind that the girl was set up. Never mind that Phoenix Wright wasn't anywhere near the site of the murder when it happened. With what he'd been given, Miles felt that in spite of his loss, the trial had come to its most reasonable conclusion. Wasn't that enough?_

_ "...only on his second trial. You have far more experience—far more training! How could you—"_

_ " I feel like the case was poorly investigated," Miles began, but Mister Von Karma rounded on him again before he could finish._

_ "Stop trying to blame others for your inability!"_

_ "I won't let it happen—"_

_ "What difference does it make Edgeworth? You've already lost. You will never have a perfect record—never! All of the effort and time and money I've spent trying to mold you into something better than—"_

_ Miles stood, "I'm sorry, sir."_

_ "I already know that," Mister Von Karma snapped at him._

_ "I should go now, sir," Miles said._

_ "Where are you going now? To see your little girlfriend? Maybe that's the problem, Edgeworth. You've let yourself get distracted and lazy."_

_ Miles met Mister Von Karma's eye for only a moment and then he turned and rushed out of the office. He stopped by his office to grab his briefcase and started down the stairs in a rush. Mister Von Karma's words still echoed forcefully in his mind._

_ He arrived the courthouse much sooner than he'd anticipated, but wasted no time jogging up the steps and into the grand building. He didn't understand what had happened really—everything seemed to go so fast during that trial. The only way Miles knew to fully understand a problem like this was to study precedents._

_ He jogged through the courthouse halls until he found the records room. He'd stay until they kicked him out—like he'd done yesterday and the day before._

_ His phone rang after nine o'clock. He groaned at the distraction but startled at the time. He answered the phone—it was Maddy._

_ "Darling? Are you still at work?"_

_ "Yes," Miles said hearing Mister Von Karma's tirade in the back of his mind—distracted and lazy._

_ "Really, Miles, this is starting to get ridiculous," Maddy said, "What could possibly warrant the hours you've been putting in? Didn't you already finish your last case?"_

_ Miles rubbed his face in irritation, "Just—Maddy, I need to do this. Just please try to understand."_

_ "Now look, darling," Maddy said, "You have to understand me. I haven't seen you in six days—I'm not even sure what you look like anymore. Daddy says you'll drive yourself crazy—or worse—sick. I'm very worried about you."_

_ Miles didn't know how to respond—but he was very touched by her concern. "I-I'm sorry Maddy… I'll call you tomorrow."_

_ "But Miles—"_

_ "I can't right now," Miles said. He pulled the phone away from his head. There was a picture of her on the screen, and her voice—small and muffled at that distance—still chattered through excitedly. Miles frowned at her picture and then touched the 'end call' button._

_ Distracted and lazy._

* * *

Miles was putting the ring—now safely placed in its velvet box—in his locked private drawer, when he was startled by another knock at his door. He didn't have a chance to acknowledge before Chief Skye let herself in.

"Good morning, Prosecutor Edgeworth," she said with a small smile.

"Chief," Miles acknowledged.

"Are you well? You look a little flustered," she said.

"I'm very well," Miles said, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Hmm," she began, "I just got off the phone with the Chief Detective—he said you kicked back every case they'd presented this week."

"They weren't ready to go to trial," Miles said simply.

"None of them?"

"I'm not going to lose another case," Miles said, "and neither are any of the prosecutors under my purview. That means we need to pressure the police department to conduct more thorough investigations."

"Well," Chief said and she turned to face the door, but instead of departing, she leaned against his desk and crossed her arms, "I don't think I can fault you for that. You know I've always appreciated your meticulous attention to detail."

Miles didn't reply, he just stared at her back and felt his ears go hot with embarrassment.

"So," She continued, "Edgeworth, I had a phone call from someone else as well."

"Oh?" Miles said and wondered why he should care at all.

"Franziska Von Karma," Chief said.

Miles frowned but didn't say anything. He startled a little when Chief turned to look at him directly.

"She asked me if it was at all possible to shift your caseload, because she hasn't had very much time to spend with her brother."

Miles frowned at his desktop—his own face frowned back up at him.

"So I looked at the docket and found that you aren't quite so busy as all that," she said.

"Chief, I—"

"Don't worry Miles, I see you working your little heart out everyday," she smiled at him and somehow that only made him more nervous.

"I have an order out with a lab out at—"

"Is it for Honeymoon?"

"Well, yes but—"

"We still don't have a date for when that trial will resume," Chief Skye said, "there seems to be a problem with the defense."

"Oh," Miles said.

"I think you should spend time with Franziska—we'll call you if and when Honeymoon goes back to court."

Miles frowned. She stood and started walking back toward the door, "Get out of here, Edgeworth."

"Sure, Chief," Miles said, "I just need to finish up in here."

Miles thought he heard her giggle at that. She already had the door open when she turned toward him a final time, "I might check on you in a day or two—make sure you're staying out of trouble."

When the door closed behind her he slumped in his seat—he didn't know what to make of that.

Despite the order to make this an early day, Miles still found himself occupied until late in the afternoon. After all, if he was going to be gone, there were preparations to be made in advance of his absence. Lana Skye did not escape his thoughts on the drive home either. He never knew what to make of her interactions with him.

Miles parked in the garage under his building and sighed at the steering wheel and the shining buttons and gauges on the console. Sometimes it seemed he had a friend in her and someone to protect him. Sometimes he felt he was being manipulated.

He leaned back in his seat and ran his hands over his face and then through his hair. His phone rang and startled him. He frowned at it and then answered.

"Hello…" he said wearily.

Franziska seemed excited about something, but Miles didn't wait for her to finish even her first sentence, "I'm down in the garage. I'll be up shortly."

He hung up before she could respond. He sighed once more before opening the door letting it swing out heavily. For such a small coupe, it had very long doors. He dragged himself out of the car slowly and then leaned back in to grab his briefcase from where he'd set it on the floor in front of the passenger's seat and then his jacket that was draped over the passenger seat. He closed the door with a hip and set down his briefcase to slide his jacket back on.

He paused to stare at his car; he kind of felt like going out for a drive—a real drive; one where he could send all 215 horses running. Miles' thumb hovered over the unlock button on his key fob.

"Little Brother!" Miles hadn't heard the elevator ding, but he heard her running across the garage. He hadn't even the chance to look at her before she slammed into him wrapping both arms tight around his waist.

"Stop!" He said, "You almost knocked the air out of me."

"Did you talk to Lana today?"

"I did have a chat with Chief Prosecutor Skye?" Miles said pointedly. He pulled away from her and straightened his jacket.

"This means we can go visit Papa tomorrow," she said.

"Franziska!" Miles said wearily, "We'll talk about this later."

"Oh stop stalling Miles," she scolded, "You're such a coward sometimes."

Miles made a face at her that she seemed to miss. But she took his arm enthusiastically and led him toward the stairwell.

"Guess what?" She said.

"No," Miles said.

"I was cooking with Mrs. Kucharka today."

"I'm glad you didn't burn down the building," he said and received a punch in the ribs in reply.

"Miles Edgeworth I assure you, I am very talented in many areas—unlike you."

"I can cook," Miles said, "I toast bread—all kinds of bread. I can pour milk over cereal—"

"Stop being an idiot," Franziska said and he smiled at her.

"I can boil water," he continued.

She made an exasperated noise and then continued, "We made your favorite for dinner. I'll bet you can't wait. Are you hungry little brother?"

"I'm always hungry," Miles said.

"Because you never eat," Franziska said.

"Because you frighten me," he said, "I'm afraid to leave my room."

"Well, you'll like dinner tonight—I give you permission to have two plates if you would like."

"And if I wanted more?"

"No Miles," she said, "You'll get fat."

"So what's for dinner anyway?"

"Your favorite."

"Pancakes?"

"No—you're such an idiot. I made you goulash—you love it!"

"What's gou—"

"Nuh-unh little brother, it's your favorite. We'll have goulash tonight and then we can play cards and you'll sleep well. Then tomorrow we'll visit Papa."

Miles shook his head and sighed, "Very well, then."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading!**_

_The first flashback is from about a year and a half ago, Miles is 22 or 23. Chief Skye has one of those smooth leather farting sofas—and Miles is kind of a prude._

_Second flashback follows the second trial in PW:AA…_

_Miles finally got through to Maddy—but now Gumshoe knows about his relationship with her. Le sigh._

_More creepiness from his boss. Why? Because conspiracy!_

_It's goulash! You love it!_


	31. Pobatio Vincit Praesumtion

**Chapter 31**

**Probatio Vincit Praesumtion**

_Miles stirred awake in over-bright antiseptic light. Slowly the noise and bustle rose to full volume and he opened his eyes reluctantly. He didn't recognize any of these people._

_ A man leaned forward and shined a light into each of his eyes. That man—a doctor, maybe—and a few of the others standing around him were talking down at him where he lay. But Miles couldn't understand what they were saying. He felt weak and shaky—like he'd just come through some ordeal—he just couldn't remember what._

_ Everything was clouded and unfocused, like some bad dream. Miles only wanted to wake up. He closed his eyes again and fell back into comfortable darkness._

_ When he woke up again he was in a quiet room. The hospital bed was an older model—like something he'd seen in a movie once. There was a partition between him and the next bed; a small thin standing wall formed of a thin metal frame and cloth panels. Like an office cubicle. A small television was mounted on the wall near the ceiling opposite his bed. Miles stared at it. Pictures were flashing on the screen of fire and panic. A news story._

_ There was a bombing on the underground in London. People were crying on the television. Three people were dead; seventy injured. Miles blinked. The news-casters were speaking English. Where the hell was he?_

_ He was too afraid to move or call out so he lay back and stared at the little television. He was grateful when coverage of the bombing ended and the focus moved on to something about building new bridges that his tired and thoroughly confused mind had trouble following._

_ He very nearly dozed off again when he was startled by the weather report. It seemed to focus with much too much detail on regions of the British Isles. Miles blinked again. What was going on?_

_ He was still focused intently on the television when a nurse walked near to check on him. She made a quip about him being awake before turning immediately away. Miles frowned after her. Several minutes later a young woman in a wrinkled white coat and thick horned-rimmed glassed, much better suited for a man, arrived to check on him. She picked up his chart and carried it to his bedside with her and she smiled down at him with what Miles was sure she thought was a kindly manner. He gave her a slight frown in reply._

_ "Hello, there," she said sweetly, "How do you feel?"_

_ Miles looked away from her and stared down at his hands, they were still trembling visibly in his lap. He gave her a sidelong look and said, "Fine."_

_ "Do you know why you're here?" She said._

_ "No," Miles said._

_ She frowned a little as she perused his chart, "How about… Do you know what your name is?"_

_ Miles thought it was an odd question, but he answered, "Yes."_

_ She hesitated waiting for him to elaborate. He blinked and then realized she was asking for his name._

_ "Um," he began haltingly, "I'm Miles Edgeworth."_

_ "Edgeworth?" She repeated, "Edge and worth?"_

_ He nodded._

_ "How old are you, Miles Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles paused thoughtfully, "What day is it?"_

_ She told him the date. He raised his brows in surprise._

_ "Oh," he said, "How long have I been here?"_

_ "Almost a full day now. You were admitted yesterday afternoon."_

_ Miles frowned and stared at the wall opposite of him. Admitted? For what?_

_ "What happened?"_

_ "You had an accident," the woman said, "So you were brought into the hospital."_

_ "Oh," Miles said._

_ "Do you remember what happened?"_

_ "No," Miles said._

_ "So how old are you, Miles?"_

_ "Mister Von Karma is already telling everyone that I'm fifteen. But my birthday is not for another month yet."_

_ "Oh," she said, "Happy Birthday then."_

_ "Uh, thanks," Miles said._

_ "Is this Von Karma your father?"_

_ "No," Miles said, "But Mister Von Karma is my legal guardian."_

_ "Oh," she said, "Good. Where do you live?"_

_ "Huh?"_

_ "Do you remember your home address?"_

_ Miles paused and then told her the address to the Von Karma house. She wrote it down on a corner of the chart and frowned at the note._

_ "What country is this address in?"_

_ Miles stared at her, incredulous, "Germany…"_

_ She stared at him, incredulous, "Do you know you're in Headington?"_

_ Miles blinked but he had nothing to say._

_ "Do you remember coming to England?"_

_ Miles crossed his arms, "We've been speaking English this whole time…"_

_ He said it out loud—mostly for his own benefit. He'd only just realized they were speaking English. The woman—who might've been a doctor or a nurse was staring at him._

_ "Em," she said, giving him a strange look. A mixture of sympathy and shock—like she'd just realized she was talking to a crazy person, "You're still a little confused, aren't you?"_

_ "Do you have an address locally?" She said hopefully, "Or a phone number that we can contact?"_

_ Miles shook his head mutely. His gaze fell to his own knees where he had them bent under the blanket. He was just starting to realize the gravity of his situation._

_ "Perhaps if you had a bit of time to think about it, you might remember…?" the woman said._

_ Miles nodded reluctantly. He wasn't even sure where Headington was—well it must be somewhere in England. Miles looked over at the television again. He didn't want to look at that woman again. He didn't want anymore distressing news or questions he couldn't answer. She touched him on the elbow to get his attention._

_ "Miles," she said, "Are you hungry?"_

_ He nodded; at least that question he could answer._

* * *

Franziska walked in front of him with her head thrown back and chin held up haughtily. She managed an air of victory while they walked up to the prison's gate. Miles had been dreading this moment since Mister Von Karma's undignified confession at the trial last December. Seeing Manfred Von Karma from his perch on the witness stand at the High Court during the sentencing trial had been close enough, as far as Miles was concerned. This seemed like unnecessary pain. Like chopping off the whole limb when there was only one tiny splinter.

Miles thought he'd been very successful with maintaining his own cool indifference. No else had to know how much turmoil this visit was causing him. They can call him names—cold; ingrate; pompous—Miles didn't care about things like that. Well, he thought he did a very good job of not letting it bother him.

Miles locked his eyes on her hair, Franziska bounced up the stairs with an energy that seemed unlikely considering where they were and the purpose of their visit. It was a long drive getting there and neither of them spoke to the other nor were they able to agree on music. It was long and made longer by the tension that filled the small car.

The guard remembered Franziska and didn't seem too concerned at Miles' presence. The visitors were normally only allowed to enter the chamber one at a time, but the guard seemed unconcerned about the two of them visiting with the old man together. At least it might save him having to keep the prisoner out of his cell for an extended period of time.

Manfred Von Karma was already seated on his side of the heavy plexi-glass partition that split the visitor's chamber into two sections. Small holes—too small for even a pen to pass through—were clustered in a tidy grouping at face level so that they could speak through the glass. Von Karma was wearing a bold-striped prison jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed on the table in front of him. He was considered a violent criminal, after all.

The old man looked so much older than he had at the sentencing trial a few short weeks ago. His eyes were rimmed red and his hair hung over his face in lank strands. He had the scraggly beginnings of a beard. It seemed as if he'd given up on life.

Franziska's cold demeanor melted immediately and she ran up to the partition and fretted over her father's appearance. Miles gave the two of them a sidelong glance as he walked without hesitating to the back of the visitor's chamber and leaned against the wall. His face was a mask of cold, uncaring ennui.

Despite his outward indifference, Miles paid enough attention to the two of them to note that despite Franziska's presence at the partition, Manfred Von Karma seemed to have eyes only for him.

"Miles Edgeworth!" Von Karma said, interrupting Franziska and startling her out of her barely controlled composure. She sat back and let out a sob.

"Come, Franziska," Manfred said, "You've visited often, I want to talk to Miles."

Miles glared at the man from his vantage against the wall. Couldn't he see the girl was in pain? He's actually her father. Miles waited for Franziska to back away from the partition before coming up behind her and pressing a handkerchief into her hand. Miles met the old man's eye with a cold silent glare for only a moment before taking the seat in front of the partition. He leaned back in the chair and stared at Manfred Von Karma's forehead.

"You've kept away," Mister Von Karma said, "One might get the impression that you don't like me."

Miles made a small, irritated noise and turned his head.

"You still won't talk to me, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles only glared at him.

"Don't you think you're being a little childish?"

"I don't really have anything to say to you," Miles said.

"Nothing? No questions, no final words?"

"Final words?"

Mister Von Karma laughed, "It took her almost a month to convince you to come visit. I don't think I can count on you to return on your own."

Miles shrugged. Mister Von Karma sat back in his seat and groaned.

"Franziska," Mister Von Karma called out.

"Yes Papa?" she said suddenly hovering over Miles' shoulder.

"I need you to step out for a moment," he said, "I need to speak to Miles in private."

A wounded look crossed her face, but after a moment's hesitation Franziska complied. Miles turned to watch her leave.

"What could you possibly have to tell me that Franziska doesn't or shouldn't know?"

"Don't get fussy boy," Mister Von Karma said, "I have a favor to ask of yo—"

"No," Miles said glaring at the other man directly.

"Miles Edgeworth! Hear me out," Von Karma said, "Spare me that much at least."

Miles stared at him silently for an impossibly long minute or two before he said, "I don't think I owe you anything else." He was sure he didn't have to remind Mister Von Karma that the only reason the man was here and not on death row was because of Miles. He watched Mister Von Karma's face redden in anger and for a moment he looked his old ornery self again.

"You're a fool, Miles Edgeworth," he mumbled before sitting back in his chair to glare at Miles icily, "I've given you more than you've deserved."

Miles' visage softened and turned his gaze toward his lap.

"My proposal is simple," Von Karma continued, "I want you to marry Franziska."

Miles felt his jaw drop and he gaped incredulously at the old man.

"Did you hear me, Edgeworth?"

Miles closed his mouth and shook his head, "I—I heard you."

"And?"

"I don't understand why you would want me to—"

"I need someone to take care of her," Mister Von Karma said, "Because I won't be there for her—"

"I don't want to marry Franziska," Miles said, 'she'll hit me all the time' he thought.

"Miles," Mister Von Karma said and he stared at Miles with desperation. Miles swallowed—this was an entirely new and troubling experience.

"Miles, the Von Karma Estate is almost bankrupt," Miles felt his jaw drop a second time, "The house here is going to be foreclosed on next month if the mortgage isn't paid—I can't pay it. That house in Germany is in danger as well—and that home has been in the family for eight generations. All the travelling and extravagance—are not within the means of a prosecutor—and I've squandered what was left of the family fortune on two divorces and all of the things that—"

"What?" Miles blurted out when he'd finally found his voice. He leaned forward in his chair and glared at the old man, "And Franziska knows nothing about this? Are you mad?"

"I'm—" Mister Von Karma seemed to shrink into himself. He put a hand over his face, "I'm a proud old fool…"

Miles leaned back and stared at his mentor, seeing him in a new light—somehow this was far worse than discovering him to be a murderer. Mister Von Karma was suddenly human—otiose, malicious, and scheming—but human none-the-less. Mister Von Karma was still talking—something about Miles helping the family that helped him and how the old man felt remorseful for all of the cruel actions of his past. Miles wasn't really listening. He knew what the old man wanted—all of the forced sentiment the man could muster would not hide the cajoling in his tone. Miles crossed his arms and stared at his own knees—even while in prison, Mister Von Karma had found a way to put him in a tight spot.

"You're wanting me to solve all of your financial problems with my money?" Miles said incredulously interrupting Mister Von Karma's tirade.

"Edgeworth, you're a billionaire! Why wouldn't you—"

"No, you don't understand," Miles said, "most of that money is tied up in real estate, and whatever else is part of a trust. When I turned twenty-one, I received a full one-tenth vote on the board and a stipend of about eighty-five thousand a year. That money belongs to the estate—not me…"

"But you can convince the board of trus—"

"No," Miles said, "I don't think they're interested in property abroad, and we've already quite a bit of real estate here in—"

"Couldn't you try?"

"No."

"If you're just trying to spite me, I want to point out that the only beneficiaries would be my daughters—it doesn't—"

"Mister Von Karma… I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure that Franziska is taken care of and that she has the opportunity to continue to pursue her career," Miles turned to glare at the wall, "But I don't want to marry her."

"Why not?" Mister Von Karma said, suddenly defensive—at least he seemed more like his old self.

Miles clenched his jaw still refusing to meet Mister Von Karma's eye.

"You think you're better than her, don't you? You fool! You think that you've risen above the Von Karma name and that you can whatever you want without us."

Miles closed his eyes and shook his head.

"You're a stupid child Miles Edgeworth! I want you to speak to me don't just sit there like an idiotic lump! Look at me, Edgeworth."

Miles met Von Karma's icy glare with a bland expression of apathy. The old man wasn't changed in the least—Miles was only witnessing the worst of him in the last desperate throes of his life. Franziska was right—Mister Von Karma was not very happy in prison.

"I still don't have anything to say to you," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma kept his glare on Miles and finally Miles turned to the wall again.

"I know you're a sentimental fool Miles Edgeworth—that was your biggest obstacle growing up. You think that you're brave because you refuse to speak. But I know you better than that, Edgeworth, I know that you're still and will always be that scared little boy I pulled out of the orphanage. Don't you walk away from me—!"

Miles already had his hand on the door. He glanced once at Mister Von Karma before opening the door, "Come Franziska," he said, "Time to say good bye."

* * *

_Mister Von Karma said nothing to him that afternoon when he arrived to claim Miles from the hospital. He grumbled about the amount of payment the hospital requested after Miles' not-quite-three-day stay, but he said nothing to Miles directly._

_ The coach brought them the distance South toward London in a heavy uncomfortable silence. Miles wondered why Mister Von Karma hadn't come for him sooner and he half worried that some expectation the man had of him had been missed. Should he have tried harder to leave the hospital on his own?_

_ Every time Miles shot a nervous glance in the man's direction, he was met by a cold indifference. Mister Von Karma was looking over a book and several notes he had written—he seemed very unconcerned with whatever excuse Miles might have for his disappearance._

_ It was late when the coach let them off at a hotel near the Gatwick Airport, and only then did Miles realize they were headed back to Germany—he'd wasted the entire visit in the hospital. No wonder Mister Von Karma was angry with him._

_ Mister Von Karma went up the stairs to the room after they checked-in and Miles was quietly relieved he'd chosen the stairs instead of the elevator. Miles followed a few paces behind him and he nearly bumped into Mister Von Karma when the man stopped on the third floor landing._

_ "Edgeworth you've caused a lot of grief to a lot of people this week," Mister Von Karma said. Miles answered with a look—he didn't know what to say about it._

_ "Now, I wasn't expecting to have so large a hospital bill," Mister Von Karma said, "so we'll be sharing a room, tonight."_

_ Miles gave him a slight nod and Mister Von Karma turned to climb the final flight of stairs. Miles followed behind him, silent and morose. He dreaded what was coming; surely Mister Von Karma was angry. When wasn't he angry with Miles?_

_ Their bags were already inside the room when they entered. It was a descent-sized room with two queen beds, a television and a small writing desk near the window. Miles picked up his bag immediately and carried it over to the desk._

_ "Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "What are you doing? Come back here."_

_ "Sir," Miles said, "I was just—I was going to…"_

_ Mister Von Karma had Miles in his icy glare. Miles dropped his bag on the desk and walked toward him. He had his hands balled into fists to hide their trembling._

_ "What happened to you?"_

_ "Sir?" Miles said—startled at so direct a question, "Sir, I really don't—I can't remember… They wouldn't let me leave, otherwise I would've tried—"_

_ Mister Von Karma struck him across his mouth, "No blubbering, boy! If you don't know what happened then tell me you don't know."_

_ It surprised him more than it hurt him, but Miles brought a hand up to his mouth reflexively. He met the man's eye directly, "Mister Von Karma, I'm sorry."_

_ Mister Von Karma made a noise and turned to pick up his suitcase and put it on the luggage stand. He kept his back to Miles as he spoke._

_ "They accused me of mistreating you," he said, "Is that what you told the hospital?"_

_ "No sir," Miles said._

_ "I have been nothing if not kind to you, Miles Edgeworth! Do you realize the amount of sacrifice I've endured to educate you? Do you think I took you under my roof for my own health?"_

_ Miles stared at him. How do you answer questions like that? After several moments of silence Mister Von Karma turned and looked at him. Miles met his glare. He didn't want to, but he met the old man's glare. Mister Von Karma turned back to his luggage._

_ "They told me you were brought into the Emergency Department following some kind of panic attack… They said you'd had an acute stress reaction to what happened. You spent nearly two days in a sort of stupor. You don't remember what happened…"_

_ Miles had a sinking feeling in his gut as Mister Von Karma talked about the hospital stay. He was so embarrassed._

_ "I'm sorry, sir," Miles said._

_ Mister Von Karma looked at him again, "You still dream about that night?"_

_ Miles startled. He didn't ask for clarification—Miles knew exactly what night Mister Von Karma was referring to._

_ "I thought you'd put all that childishness behind you," Mister Von Karma said, "If these things were bothering you, you've never said anything to me."_

_ Miles stared at him incredulously; he had nothing to say to that._

_ "A proud fool—just like your father," Mister Von Karma said, "No one can fix you if you're too stupid to say what needs mending."_

_ "I don't need mending, sir," Miles said._

_ "It seems that you do, Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma snapped back at him. The man stopped and glared at Miles for several dragging moments. Miles swallowed and Mister Von Karma turned back to his chore—but not before that glare had softened just a bit._

_ "What am I supposed to do with you, Miles Edgeworth? When you're going to get anxious over nothing? You may as well live in a ward with the other crazies—what a useless person you're turning out to be."_

_ "I'm sorry," Miles said._

_ "You certainly are," Mister Von Karma muttered under his breath, "They seem to think that you're depressed too. Tell me what do you have to be depressed about?"_

_ "I didn't say anything about—"_

_ "I don't want your excuses, Miles Edgeworth!" Mister Von Karma turned and threw a shoe at Miles. Miles ducked and backed away from the man._

_ "You have the best of everything. Your fate was a state-run home in California. Foster parents. Substandard schools. You've avoided all of that. What could you possibly be depressed about?"_

_ "I'm not—" Miles said. He didn't think he was depressed._

_ They stared at each other for several painful moments. Then Mister Von Karma walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder and glared hard at him. Miles wanted to pull away and hide. But he forced himself to stay put and keep calm._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "I understand that things are difficult for you. You're not a Von Karma. But I can't carry you on my own; you need to take some responsibility on your own. You want to be perfect, don't you?"_

_ Miles swallowed—there's no such thing as perfect. Mister Von Karma took his hesitation as another sign of Miles' weakness._

_ "I can't make you perfect," Mister Von Karma continued, "I can only show you the way. You're going to have to try on your own as well."_

_ Mister Von Karma squeezed his shoulder, "You have the potential for greatness, Miles Edgeworth, but you won't get there by standing by quietly and being depressed."_

_ Miles blinked. Mister Von Karma had already returned to his unpacking. Miles stared at the man's back and swallowed back the rising lump of emotion in his throat. In the more than six years he'd lived with Mister Von Karma, he'd never been shown so much affection. Could it be that Mister Von Karma cared about him after all?_

_ Miles blinked and forced himself into quiet composure. He glanced once more at Mister Von Karma before walking toward the desk to unpack what he needed for the night._

* * *

Miles took his place at the back of the visitor's room, turning over all that'd been said. He thought about his father suddenly—that was probably the most painful thought that plagued him over the last fifteen years—what if Dad had lived? How would life have been different? Would he still be the person he was today?

The murmured conversation between Franziska and her father was like a song in the background as Miles tried to remember why he'd always looked up to the old man. Why he'd chosen to become a prosecutor. Why it still felt wrong that Phoenix Wright had disclosed the truth that had led to this. Miles should've been the one in prison, right?

He frowned at his shoes—Franziska and her father were speaking in German, Miles was only half-listening and too upset to translate in his head. Mister Von Karma had sacrificed a lot for his sake. It was pigheaded to pretend otherwise. Miles had never gone hungry, nor was he left to fend for himself—Mister Von Karma had been kind enough in that regard. Was it really reasonable for him to ask for more? Miles let his brow furrow and his frown deepened. Miles Edgeworth had no ground to stand on; no right to wish ill of the man that had cared for him for most of his life.

With renewed resolve, he looked up at father and daughter. Am I jealous? No, I have no right to be. He waited while they spoke and then Miles cleared his throat and approached Franziska and her father in what seemed t be a pause in the conversation.

"I do have something to tell you, sir," Miles said. He was standing behind Franziska with his hands behind his back, shoulders squared, chin raised.

Both of them only glared at his interruption. Miles was always bad at these things.

"I wanted to tell you thank you," Miles said earnestly, "For bringing me up when I'd been orphaned. Thank you for taking the time and energy to train and educate me and for leading me to this path and teaching me the way to be a perfect prosecutor. You are the greatest prosecutor I have ever known."

Franziska was staring up at him with her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised. Mister Von Karma only put his head down and closed his eyes—like he was too angry to speak and was thinking hard to come up with some rebuttal. But Miles wasn't finished.

"I've looked up to you my whole life. I really did try my best, sir—but I will never be like you—I'll never be perfect," Miles was starting to lose his tenuous grip on his composure and he started to blink in order to block the tears that were already stinging his eyes.

"I'm lucky if I turn out to be half the prosecutor you are," Miles said, "I'll keep trying, though I may never be as smart as you… nor as talented… I feel like I've disappointed you in so many ways—I can't blame you for doing what you did. I deserved every bit of it. I only—"

"Miles!" Franziska said and she grabbed his arm as she stood, "Stop it!"

"I only ever wanted to make you—" Miles said and he started to break down. Franziska was still holding his arm as he slid to his knees onto the floor, "I only ever wanted you to be proud of me," he sobbed, "I only wanted to make you happy."

"Please, Miles," Franziska said still gripping his arm. She was tugging feebly at him as if she could pull him upright.

"But I never could," Miles said and he shook his head violently in his emotion, "Could I? I could never win big enough—and then I started to lose… I tried so hard…"

"Papa!" he heard Franziska say and they slid into German and Miles was too tired and angry with himself to follow along. He kept his eyes closed and he put a hand over his mouth to keep it closed too. He had to get back in control. This was embarrassing—he'd never hear the end of it from Franziska—and Mister Von Karma would be angrier all the more. Miles pulled his arm away from Franziska and wrapped it around his stomach; he was starting to hiccough.

"Miles," Franziska said. Her voice was never very soothing but he could feel her hands on him rubbing the back of his neck and his shoulders.

"Franziska," he heard Mister Von Karma say while he sat on the floor trying to regain his composure, "Tell your brother he is a sentimental fool and that it is his biggest obstacle. Because he won't hear it from me."

Franziska didn't say anything, but her hands never left Miles as he awkwardly put his legs underneath himself and stood up. He was relieved—if not a little abashed at his own outburst—and he looked at Mister Von Karma directly.

"That is all," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma, "Is it? No more crying and whimpering from you?"

"No sir," Miles said and his somber tone was broken up by a sporadic hiccough—Miles smiled and clamped a hand over his mouth, "Sorry," he said.

"You were always too lazy and too emotional to really focus on what you needed to," Mister Von Karma said.

Miles nodded in agreement, "I'm sorry."

"You're useless Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "Perhaps you'll do the world a favor and drive your stupid little car off of a cliff."

Miles chuckled and then shrugged, "If that's what it takes."

Franziska made a noise and shoved Miles toward the door.

"I'll see you in a couple days Papa, before I leave for home," she said and then gave Miles a sharp jab in the ribs.

"Ow," Miles said.

"Edgeworth, don't forget what I told you," Mister Von Karma said, "Franziska… Be a good girl."

"I'm always good," Franziska said, "Good bye Papa, until next time!"

They were both morose in the corridor as they followed the guard back toward the administrative building. Franziska still had an iron grip on his arm.

"I don't believe you little brother," she said condescendingly, "Men aren't supposed to cry like that."

"I'm sorry," Miles said, "I wasn't really thinking."

"That's nothing new," Franziska said. Miles smiled at her.

"What?" she said, "Why are you smiling?"

Miles only smiled more broadly. Franziska rolled her eyes at him, "You foolish little fool."

Neither of them spoke until they reached the parking area. Miles had his hands in his pockets and Franziska was hugging herself. As they passed the sparse lot to where Miles had parked sideways in the very back, Franziska made a noise. Miles looked back at her only then realizing that he'd gone far ahead of her. He glanced longingly at the little car before turning back to retrieve Franziska.

"What's the matter, Franziska?" He said.

"Nothing," she said and he realized she had been crying, "I don't need your sympathy."

Miles scratched his head, "Okay… ?"

He took her arm and steered her on a more direct path toward the car. Suddenly she stopped walking and Miles looked at her directly.

"It's just that I'm going home at the end of the week," she said and she slid her arms around his waist and sobbed into his chest, "Who will check on Papa?"

"Well," Miles said, "There are guards—"

She pulled away from him and then smacked both fists into his chest, "You idiot! I hate you! I—"

Miles took both her wrists before she hit him a third time and looked down at her.

"He'll be fine Franziska," Miles said.

"Papa is so very unhappy. Someone needs to keep an eye on—"

"Again, that's what the guards—"

"Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted and she pulled out of his grip and smacked him on the chest again and again… and again.

Miles pulled her into a rough embrace and held her until she stopped fighting against him. Neither of them had anything to say as they walked the remaining distance to the car.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Latin title means "Proof Overcomes Presumption", meaning evidence will always carry more weight than conjecture…**_

_Obviously both flashbacks are tied together—Miles is 14 (almost Fifteen)._

…_otiose… a word I learned from playing Boggle with really smart people…_

_Doesn't it feel good to get it off your chest?_


	32. In Your Head

**Chapter 32**

**In Your Head**

_"Hey Nick!" Maya said, before stuffing another mouthful of noodles into her mouth, "Is Mister Edgeworth going to come or not? Now that he's free and everything?"_

_ "I told you, he's still in detention," Phoenix said taking a platter that Gumshoe was passing to him._

_ "That was like, two-and-a-half hours ago. It didn't take nearly—"_

_ "Two hours!" Gumshoe said interrupting Maya, "I had to be back at the precinct an hour ago."_

_ The detective stood up and dug in his ragged coat, "Hey, Wright, I'm kind of in a hurry here. Can you cover me, pal?"_

_ Phoenix looked at him exasperated but the detective was already turning to leave._

_ "I owe you pal!" Gumshoe waved, "Bye Maya! Lotta, Harry."_

_ "Bye Mister Gumshoe!" Maya said._

_ The night suddenly took a turn downward, Phoenix sighed and ordered another beer._

_ "Cheer up Nick," Larry said, bumping him with an elbow, "Enjoy the sights."_

_ Phoenix looked sidelong at Larry who was leaning over toward Lotta Hart and engaged in what seemed like serious conversation. Phoenix had to smile. He didn't think she was Larry's type._

_ "Nick," Maya said, "Can you pass me the dumplings?"_

_ Phoenix did as she asked, "I think we're going to be staying late tonight…"_

_ "Waddaya mean, Nick?"_

_ "I don't think I can pay for this. Larry?" Nick said._

_ "Oh man!" Larry said, "Look at the time. Hate to dash—but we got to go take some pictures."_

_ "Hoo boy, y'all sure know how to party!" Lotta said, "I'll send you a copy if I get that picture developed. Night, Y'all!"_

_ "Wait a sec, Larry," Phoenix said. But Larry was already helping Lotta out of her chair. Phoenix looked over at Maya, she had speared a dumpling with her fork and stared at it thoughtfully._

_ "At least you're still here with me," Phoenix said._

_ "I'll wash dishes with you Nick," Maya said and bit into her dumpling._

_ "Well if it ain't the man of the hour," Lotta said near the door, "Congrats, hon."_

_ "Hey Edgey," Phoenix sat up when he heard Larry, "Bye, Edgey."_

_ Edgeworth approached the table cautiously, "I didn't think they were still open."_

_ "Have a seat," Phoenix said and took a draught from his beer, "You can hang out and wash dishes with us."_

_ Edgeworth sat and gazed at the remnants of the meal on the table. Phoenix couldn't tell if he was shocked or disgusted._

_ "Have a dumpling, Mister Edgeworth," Maya said offering the platter. Edgeworth took it from her with a nod of thanks._

_ "The noodles went cold—and they're not the kind you want to eat cold," Maya was telling him, "But you'll like these. They're the kind—"_

_ "I didn't think you'd show up," Phoenix said._

_ "Surprise," Edgeworth said banally and took a bite of a dumpling._

_ "I'm glad you came Mister Edgeworth," Maya said, "I think Nick really missed you."_

_ Phoenix leaned forward and looked away from them embarrassed._

_ "Yuck," Edgeworth said and Maya giggled, Phoenix looked back at them._

_ "How about one of these?" She said offering a different plate to Edgeworth._

_ Phoenix almost laughed watching Maya experiment with Edgeworth of all people. He was startled when the manager came up to their table._

_ "You can stay as long as you like," he said, "but I had to lock the door, we're closed."_

_ "Sorry," Phoenix said trying to ignore what suddenly seemed like a bubbly conversation between Maya and Edgeworth._

_ "Also, if you could cash out so we can empty the register…"_

_ "Uh," Phoenix said, "Sure, I'll just…"_

_ He started fumbling in his jacket for his wallet._

_ "I'll get it," Edgeworth stood and followed the manager before Phoenix could say anything. He covered his face; abashed at the situation._

_ "He said he didn't want to wash dishes," Maya whispered loudly at him from her side of the table._

_ Phoenix rubbed his head as they walked out of the restaurant; he was definitely going to feel this the next day. The three of them stood awkwardly in front of the restaurant, trying to look in different directions—except Edgeworth—he seemed pretty content to stare at the curb._

_ "Hey, I'm sorry about—"_

_ "It's nothing," Edgeworth replied, though in the dark it was hard to tell if he was irritated or congenial—never mind the tone of his voice. Phoenix was pretty sure Edgeworth didn't know how that whole tone thing worked._

_ "You want to come up?" Phoenix said._

_ "Sure," Edgeworth said._

_ They started walking toward the apartment. Maya skipped ahead glancing at them over her shoulder every now and again. Phoenix turned over the things he wanted to say in his head—not sure what Edgeworth would talk about._

_ "I am glad you had a chance to come hang out, whatever it's worth," Phoenix said._

_ Edgeworth didn't answer him, maybe he nodded, Phoenix thought—this was starting to get awkward._

_ "There is something," Phoenix said, hoping he sounded chipper enough, "I wanted to ask you… Ever since last September when we first met in court."_

_ "What's that?" Edgeworth said curiosity apparent in his voice, Phoenix's eyes widened and he smiled._

_ "How have you been?"_

_ "Fine," Edgeworth said, "You?"_

_ "Great," Phoenix laughed, "I've been swell."_

_ "Your mother?"_

_ "She's good—she's retiring here in a couple of years. She keeps telling me she's going to relocate to Atlantic City."_

_ He couldn't tell if Edgeworth laughed or smiled or whatever, "You should come see her."_

_ Edgeworth did chuckle at that, "Hmm."_

_ It felt weird. He and Maya did this all the time—the quiet walk back to his place near the business park. Edgeworth's presence wasn't unwelcome—just different._

_ "The girl is waving at you," Edgeworth said._

_ "Maya, what?" Phoenix said as they caught her up. She'd gone ahead of them skipping like a little girl. _

_ "I was just going to ask if you wanted ice cream," Maya said._

_ "Do you want ice cream?" Phoenix said and looked at Edgeworth._

_ "You're not serious," Edgeworth said._

_ "Why not?" Maya said, "It's not that late yet."_

_ "It's freezing out," Edgeworth said._

_ "Hot cocoa, then?"_

_ "I think we should just head back," Phoenix said._

_ She pulled ahead of them again and when she reached his building she jogged up the stairs and waited at the door with her arms crossed. Phoenix paused and looked at Edgeworth._

_ Edgeworth raised an eyebrow._

_ "Oh, yeah…" Phoenix started up the stairs and unlocked the door._

_ "Good night Nick," Maya said as soon as the door was opened and she entered the small apartment, "Good night Mister Edgeworth."_

_ "Hey, Maya," Phoenix said, "Is everything all right?"_

_ "Yeah, Nick," Maya said. She turned immediately and went into the back of the apartment._

_ "Is she upset?" Edgeworth asked as he stepped into the doorway, just far enough inside that Phoenix could close the door. Phoenix was occupied with removing his coat and then his shoes, but he looked up at Edgeworth standing over him. Tense and cautious as ever._

_ "She said she was fine," Phoenix said and he walked into the apartment loosening his tie. He took off his blue jacket and laid it over the back of a chair in the kitchen. Edgeworth removed his coat and shoes and followed him in. Phoenix blinked at him—Edgeworth wore a dark sweater over his magenta pants—he hadn't noticed earlier; the open collar and missing jacket._

_ "Do you want something to drink?"_

_ "No," Edgeworth said._

_ Phoenix sat in his chair and stared at his boyhood friend. Edgeworth seemed relaxed—as relaxed as he'd ever seen him—he was leaning on his elbows and his gaze was directed toward the tabletop where his hands were clasped together. His left sleeve had been tugged up slightly, revealing most of what must be an atrociously expensive watch with a large face and a dark leather band._

_ "So what now?" Phoenix said and he smiled; partly to ease some of the tension and partly because he was starting to feel giddy. He was thoroughly buzzed after what had started as a pretty raucous celebration dinner in honor of the guy sitting in front of him._

_ Edgeworth's mouth pulled into the merest hint of a smile and he met Phoenix with his striking gray eyes, "I suppose we return to the status quo."_

_ "Yeah," Phoenix said and cursed himself inwardly for his ineloquence, "I guess."_

_ Edgeworth's mouth drooped into its usual frown and he shifted in his seat and turned to face the window. It was early yet, maybe nine or nine-thirty, but the winter sky was pitch dark, and had been for at least a couple of hours._

_ "You know, all of this aside," Phoenix said pointedly dismissing both trials and their standing rivalry, "I've been meaning to ask you…"_

_ Edgeworth answered by meeting his stare and raising an eyebrow._

_ "I just wanted… I always wondered what happened to you after you left. Where you went… Why you never answered my letters."_

_ Edgeworth blinked but didn't answer. After several moments hesitation he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He never met Phoenix's stare._

_ "It seems it should be rather clear what happened after I left," Edgeworth said, "and I never… Where did you send your letters anyway?"_

_ Phoenix frowned, slightly embarrassed, "I don't know. I always gave them to my mom. After a while—a pretty long while—I got tired of writing them and never getting an answer… So I stopped."_

_ Edgeworth looked back toward the window, but he didn't say anything. Phoenix found himself occupied with a small piece of laminate that had cracked off of the tabletop. He wasn't sure how long they sat there, not saying anything. Phoenix swallowed—he started this, he may as well see it through._

_ "I tried calling you when I found out you were back in the area," Phoenix said, "You never once answered or returned my calls."_

_ Edgeworth's head moved slightly when Phoenix spoke but he had nothing to say._

_ "Did you forget about me—about all of us so completely?" Phoenix said, "I never understood why you ignored me. It's messed up, Edgeworth."_

_ "Should I leave?"_

_ "No," Phoenix said. He stared at Edgeworth, watching the other man's gaze slide back toward the window, "I don't know…"_

_ "I think I've had a few too many tonight," Phoenix said, and walked over the coffee pot, "I'm going to make coffee, do you want coffee?"_

_ Edgeworth nodded. Phoenix pulled the carafe out of the sink and rinsed it before filling it._

_ "I must've called you a hundred times," Phoenix said as he added coffee grounds to the machine and set it to percolate._

_ "Fifty-seven," Edgeworth said quietly._

_ "What?" Phoenix said but Edgeworth only shook his head. Phoenix returned to the table and sat heavily in his chair._

_ "I'm sorry," Phoenix said, "We just got done with that trial—those trials…"_

_ "Only just."_

_ "Yeah. I feel bad, Edgeworth, I feel really bad. About your dad, and what you've been through… I wish I could've been there—I wanted to be there for you. You understand that, right?"_

_ Edgeworth hesitated and then nodded slowly._

_ "I was serious, too. When I said I became a lawyer so I could meet you—confront you. Now that all of this is over, maybe we can be friends like we used to—"_

_ But Edgeworth was shaking his head before Phoenix could finish the sentence._

_ "Why?" Phoenix asked._

_ "Just stop, Wright," Edgeworth said, "I don't want to… You're making me uncomfortable."_

_ Phoenix glared at Edgeworth's profile; the guy wouldn't even look at him. Phoenix stood again. He balked for a minute before going back to the coffee pot. He pulled a couple mugs from the wire dish drain that sat next to the sink. When he lifted the carafe the plate hissed from his removing it early. When he returned to the table with both mugs, Edgeworth was standing and staring out of the window._

_ Phoenix glowered at him, "Cream or sugar?"_

_ "No, thank you."_

_ Phoenix scooped sugar into his mug and stirred letting the spoon bang against the mug more loudly than needed before joining Edgeworth at the window. He handed a mug to him and looked at the dark outside. The light from the kitchen shone against the glass and their reflections stared back distant and faded, but present none-the-less. Phoenix noted with some displeasure that Edgeworth was taller than him by at least a couple of inches. He was broader in the shoulder too._

_ "Unbelievable," Phoenix said._

_ Edgeworth looked at him sidelong and drank his coffee._

_ They stood silent with their coffee mugs. These long silences were driving him crazy, didn't this guy know how to have a proper conversation? Phoenix took to staring at him surreptitiously by the reflection in the window. Edgeworth's eyes moved back and forth with a steady cadence—like he was reading a book._

_ "Just say one thing," Phoenix said._

_ "About what?"_

_ "Whatever's going on in your head."_

_ Phoenix watched the sudden twitch as the muscle in his friend's jaw tightened and Edgeworth set his cup on the table, "I should probably go."_

_ Phoenix sighed_

* * *

"What happened?" Phoenix said. He picked up his pace after entering her hospital room and stopped to stare down at her.

"Oh hey, kid," Brooke picked her head up from the pillow to get a better look at him and then dropped back down. Phoenix pulled a chair up to her bedside and unbuttoned his jacket as he sat down.

"What happened?" he repeated.

"I'm not sure—I can't remember it actually happening… Somebody hit me on the head with something hard."

Phoenix stared at her for a moment, frowning.

"I brought you a card," he said and flipped a large envelope onto her pillow.

"Thanks," she said picking it up and making an awkward endeavor to open it from her position.

"Geez," Phoenix said, "At least there wasn't any permanent damage. Did you file a report?"

"What?" Brooke said holding the card up to read it.

"With the police," Phoenix said, "so they can try to get the guy that—"

"No," Brooke said, "I know who it was."

Phoenix gave her a look of exasperation—mentally slapping his forehead, "Isn't that more reason to go to the police!"

"Not with these folks, kid," Brooke said, "These people own the police."

"Okay," Phoenix said, he was starting to get bored with all of the cloak and dagger, "Aren't you worried they'll come after you again?"

"Dunno," Brooke said.

"What about your client?"

"The trial was postponed—I'm going to be replaced…" Brooke looked at him directly, "You want in on this?"

Phoenix stared at her for several moments before answering, "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm just—I don't want to," Phoenix said.

Brooke turned her head to look at the television. It had been muted so Phoenix hadn't noticed it was there. They weren't friends, barely acquaintances, but he somehow felt guilty about her attack. She must still be pretty out of it, he thought while she started to nod off.

"Get well," Phoenix said and backed out slowly.

He left the hospital feeling a little more threatened than he had before. Edgeworth wasn't answering his phone the last few days either.

Phoenix walked briskly through the city following his feet and not really sure where he was going—until he got there. The Law Offices of Marvin Grossberg. Phoenix balked before entering.

"Mister Grossberg is not seeing any clients," the receptionist said.

"I'm not a client," Phoenix said and she looked at him for the first time.

"Oh," she said, "You again."

"Heh," Phoenix grinned, "Me again."

"You can go in," she said already turning pages in her magazine.

Phoenix smiled when heard that old familiar clearing of the throat, "Mister Grossberg?"

"Wright, I was expecting you earlier. Since you didn't show, I was forced to occupy myself with this one-eighth scale model of a 2010 Aston Martin Vantage—it's sure to be a classic!"

"A what?"

"Do you see here, my boy?" Phoenix stared at the little model in Grossberg's hands and wondered how those chubby fingers had managed to put the thing together, "The doors open and close."

"Oh," Phoenix said, "It's a car."

Mister Grossberg grumbled at him as he set the model aside, and cleared his throat with a rumble, "Did you see Miss Shield?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "I brought her a get well card."

"So very thoughtful of you, Wright," Grossberg said, "In my youth, I remember all the young men bringing get well cards to their young incapacitated lovers…"

What? Phoenix didn't bother asking, that didn't seem like something worth exploring.

"So I'm sure you've heard that the trial against Kurt Sheinheilig has been postponed, as he is as yet—and soon to be officially—without council."

"Too bad for him," Phoenix said, "I have a feeling Edgeworth is coming back with a vengeance."

"Hoom," Grossberg grumbled, "He is the worst."

"Uh," Phoenix said, "Okay. You helped us get him acquitted just over a month ago."

"I know who he is," Grossberg said, "Still, I don't recommend getting involved in the Sheinheilig case. Pretty nasty business if you ask me."

"Huh?"

"Look what happened to Shield—everyone's afraid."

"Wait," Phoenix said, "You think the DA's responsible for shaking up Sheinheilig's defense?"

"Nonsense," Grossberg said his jowls quaking, "It's coming from somewhere else. But I don't know where."

"Why would anyone want to scare defense attorney's off of the Sheinheilig case? If he's guilty—which seems certain according to Nancy Grace, if you can believe that drivel—why not let the trial run it's course?"

"I don't know," Grossberg said, "But it mistrialed under some decidedly underhanded circumstances and that in itself is enough to lay a shadow of doubt over the whole proceeding. It seems someone would like to use this case as another embarrassment to this district and their prosecutors."

"So why are all of the defense attorneys afraid to take on the case?"

"Hoom," Grossberg said, "It's enough to start my hemorrhoids flaring."

'Eww,' Phoenix thought.

"But Wright," Grossberg said, "What's the real reason you're here today?"

"I just," Phoenix hesitated, "I just wanted to talk about Mia."

Grossberg leaned back in his straining chair and waved a hand at the leather sofa in his office, "Sit down Wright."

* * *

_"I am serious about this," Phoenix said staring at her with what he hoped she might take for plucky determination. It was really hard not to let his gaze slide down to her ample bosom and the generous amount of cleavage allowed to peek out. Good night! It was like waving a sandwich in front of a starving man._

_ Mia whacked him on the hand with her pen, "Then quit joking around, Nick."_

_ She'd agreed to tutor him in his final semester—that in itself seemed like a great victory—but he still had to get through that Advanced Criminal Law Elements test he had on Friday—not to mention the rest of the semester. One day at a time, he told himself._

_ She made him memorize passages—huge swaths of dry academic prose summarizing any case or president or glittering piece of legislation he might possibly need to reference. It gave him headaches sometimes. This was the easy part—she would quiz him when they met after she got done at the office tonight._

_ "So, I'm serious about this… but I also really need a sandwich," Phoenix said when the letters in the book started crowding together. Mia let out a noise of exasperation._

_ "Let's get lunch together," Phoenix said giving her the best sad puppy look he could muster, "As friends," he added—he didn't want to give her the wrong idea. Even though the wrong idea sometimes seemed so right._

_ "Nick," she said, "You're still going to be responsible for all of this tonight. But yeah, lunch is a good idea—I'm tired of trying to eat at my desk when I get in."_

_ Phoenix couldn't stop that sloppy lopsided grin from spreading across his face. _

"_But it's just lunch—among friends—got it?" Mia said pointedly. Phoenix nodded emphatically and wasted no time packing up his books._

_They found a small deli just off campus that had just finished the lunch rush and therefore relatively empty. Phoenix couldn't help looking around at other guys they passed on the way to gage their reaction to his lunch buddy. More than a few heads turned to look at her as they made their way toward the deli—that made him feel kind of awesome._

_They sat down in a quiet corner and a young waiter—a dude Phoenix remembered from one of his art classes a few semesters ago—took their drink orders and left them alone._

"_So," Phoenix said, "What did you do last weekend?" He almost held his breath—worried that maybe he was being too forward or too casual with her._

_Mia smiled politely, "Not much, I spent most of the day Saturday at the hospital."_

_Phoenix frowned—oh yeah… "How's he doing? Did they say anything else about—"_

_Mia just shook her head and gave a small sigh, "No. They can't even bring him out of the coma yet… I'm sorry, Nick, I didn't mean to dive straight into this whole melancholy business—"_

_Phoenix smiled at her, "Don't worry about it—I was the one who asked about the weekend… Besides, it wouldn't be right if something—er someone—important to you wasn't on your mind. I can't blame you for that."_

_Mia smiled back, "What did you do over the weekend?"_

"_The usual," Phoenix said, "I helped put out a fire at a local orphanage—rescued a couple dozen kids from the burning wreckage… Then I stopped a robbery at a convenience store on the way home—" Phoenix sniffed and thumbed his belt, "You know—all before lunch time…"_

_Mia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Phoenix grinned back at her._

"_I went home to see my mom on Saturday—do some laundry. It's so nice to be able to change underwear everyday—"_

"_Gross," Mia said, but she was giggling now._

"_Anyway, Mom is all worked up about that Joe Darke guy—the one that—"_

"_Yeah Nick, it's all over the news," Mia said._

"_Did you hear about that prosecutor—the one that he killed at the police department? The guy's crazy."_

"_Probably the only plea his defense is thinking of entering…" Mia said._

"_It's kind of…" Phoenix started, "I mean when people like that just come out of nowhere… What would you do if you had to defend someone like that?"_

_Mia frowned, "I'd like to say that I'd refuse the case—I can't defend a client that I don't trust or believe in… But there might be a time when you don't have a choice. That's when you have to trust justice will find a way…"_

_Mia's voice faded and Phoenix swallowed—it was always easy to forget the hard part about his chosen career path. They sat quietly for a few moments—Phoenix was stewing on the thought that sometimes the client he might be defending might be guilty. The waiter broke up the heavy silence by bringing their drinks and taking their sandwich orders. The guy didn't seem to recognize Phoenix—but he was congenial and funny… Maybe only because Mia was at the table._

"_Are you starting to think that maybe you'd rather be a prosecutor?" Mia asked after the waiter left. She stared at him earnestly and maybe he heard a teasing note in her voice, Phoenix didn't answer right away._

"_It might be easier," Mia said as she picked up her mint lemonade, "Steady pay, steady work…"_

"_Weren't you the one that said 'the grass is always greener' with regard to criminal law?" Phoenix retorted with a small cocky smile, "Anyway, my real answer is no. I have very… specific reasons for wanting to be a defense attorney…"_

"_Oh yeah?" Mia said this time the taunting note in her voice was very apparent._

"_I don't want you to make fun of me," Phoenix said and he sat up to grab his coke and take a drought._

"_I won't make fun of you," Mia said, "all of us have not-so-apparent motivations."_

"_Why'd you become a defense attorney?"_

"_It's very personal…" Mia began timidly, "But I did it for my mom…"_

_Phoenix raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Mia shook her head._

"_That's as much as I'll give you—we barely know each other…" She said mockingly._

_Phoenix chuckled and toyed with his glass for a moment, wiping patterns in the condensation with a finger, "I wanted to be a defense attorney because of a friend…"_

_Mia lifted one of her delicate eyebrows and cocked her head, asking for elaboration. Phoenix swallowed—he couldn't tell her about Miles—she'd laugh at him._

"_It was you," Phoenix said, "Because you believed in me, even when all the evidence seemed incontrovertible… When it seemed like there was no way on heaven or earth to find me innocent…"_

_Mia only smiled at him and occupied herself by stirring her lemonade with a straw. Several moments of awkward silence later, their sandwiches came. At least they had an excuse now for keeping quiet._

"_Pretty good, huh?" Phoenix said after a while, "for the price."_

_Mia dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin, "this is excellent—great choice Nick."_

_Her phone buzzed and Mia put down her sandwich and pulled it out of her purse._

_She laughed, "Ha… Miles Edgeworth…"_

_Phoenix breathed in some sandwich and began to cough violently._

"_Nick?"_

_Phoenix shook his head as he struggled to regain composure, "Sorry," he croaked._

"_Are you okay?"_

"_Yeah," he said and took a drink, "I just had—some of it went down the wrong pipe."_

_Mia chuckled—she was answering whomever it was that had texted her._

"_What happened?" Phoenix said trying to sound as oblivious as possible._

"_Oh," she hesitated until she was done on her phone, "Marvin—Mister Grossberg, just told me that the new prosecutor for the trial against Joe Darke is going to be Prosecutor Edgeworth…"_

"_Oh," Phoenix said with forced nonchalance, "I never heard of that… person…"_

"_He's a conniving little prick—sorry. I had to go up against him my very first trial. Mister Grossberg thought I'd be interested to know…"_

"_Hmm," Phoenix said and shoved another bite of sandwich into his mouth._

"_Nick Nefsik doesn't stand a chance," Mia said, she looked up to see the inquisitive look he gave her, "Darke's defense attorney. Nefsik works for Hammond and Associates. Rob Hammond is another one of Mister Grossberg's protégés."_

_Phoenix rolled his eyes and swallowed, "Geez…"_

"_Don't worry," Mia said, "You won't be quizzed on local personalities until after you graduate."_

"_Good," Phoenix said. _

* * *

The archive maintained in the Records room of the district court was expansive—spanning several decades from the time the court was established to the recent past. Cases from the last two years were maintained in other archives that required special accesses and permissions and in some cases payment—but anything older—provided there were no additional appeals or judgments pending—i.e. the case was closed—was available here for the education and entertainment of the public.

The oldest records—from thirty or forty years ago—were archived on microfiche that were later digitized and placed in the archive's memory bank. Newer cases were digitized as part of the newer digital archive process and provided for luxuries such as keyword searches and multimedia files. Records older than two years but less than five years were also maintained in hard-copy briefs that could be checked out by authorized persons—students, clerks, paralegals, lawyers, etc…

Phoenix supposed the rotating of these briefs and the digital archiving of new cases older than two years, kept several people in a job—among several other jobs that had nothing to do with the law or court procedure—that made the courthouse itself one of the largest employers in the local district. Sometimes he wondered if he should take a part-time job at the courthouse—just to have some steady income coming in.

However, the possibility of additional employment is not what brought Phoenix into the archive today—in fact he hadn't been in the archive since he was in school—unless, of course, you counted the night a few weeks ago when Edgeworth dragged him in there to go over testimony transcripts from DL-6 and the Hammond murder trials. Those transcripts, by the way, were not kept in the archive—Phoenix had no idea how Edgeworth had gotten a hold of them; nor did he feel he should even ask.

Phoenix always felt intimidated by the Court Records Room. Probably because Mia had forced him to spend most of his time in there preparing for his finals, and later, the bar.

He entered the archive by one of several entrances and made a beeline for one of the computers set aside just for the perusal of the digital archive. Edgeworth had only been prosecuting in the district for a few years—less than five—so every one of his cases older than two years would be digitized. If he searched for Mia, he had even fewer cases to look through.

He read through over three hours of Mia and Edgeworth's case files before finding one small mention of a trial which ended prematurely. The prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth—Defense: Mia Fey. Score! Except… The trial was never completed and therefore no actual documents or media pertaining to the trial existed.

Phoenix left the archive to get a quick lunch at the courthouse cafeteria. He sat pondering over crappy chicken a la king, as to how he'd be able to find more information on that trial. Talking to Mia was out of the question—he didn't know when or if Maya would ever come back. He could ask Edgeworth—if the dude would ever decide to start answering his phone again.

Phoenix choked down most of his lunch—unwilling to waste money on a meal he didn't eat—then went outside. He stared at his phone in his hand—he wasn't sure if he even wanted to call Edgeworth again—as Edgeworth had been ignoring him for the last several days—since he left for Las Vegas. Phoenix dialed—now that he was fixated on learning about the trial between Mia and Edgeworth, he wasn't going to let Edgeworth off so easily.

Phoenix paced the bright expanse of concrete that made up the courthouse mall and courtyard. It was sunny again and the light made the concrete shine like new snow. The phone kept ringing until the voicemail answered. Phoenix cursed and dialed again. One ring… Two rings…

"Edgeword."

"Where have you been?"

"Hello Ride, I was workin'. What are you doin?"

"What? What's wrong with you?"

"By allergies hab flared up. So I'b takin' a persodal day—sort ob…"

Phoenix laughed; this was kind of funny.

"Oh, okay," Phoenix said, "So since you're off of work, do you have time to—"

"Dope."

"Edgeworth what—"

"I'b at da dry big rage," Edgeworth's voice faded as he sneezed and blew his nose, "Sorry about dat. You're welcome to join be if you wad, however, I ab attendig to some berry serious bidness and I whoa be abailable all day."

"Is that where they race cars?"

"Doh, I'b at da _dry big rage_. If you cub out to da Palms on da Horizon, da cubhouse is ride awe da bain road."

"Uh, well," Phoenix said, "Is there a bus stop near there? I'm kind of limited—"

"Doh," Edgeworth said, "But you can take a cab."

Phoenix muttered under his breath, "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I hab to take by sister to da airport," Edgeworth said and sniffed, "Bud udder dan dat doh."

"Well, it's sort of important—wait you don't have a sister."

"Bye Ride."

"Wait—!" But Edgeworth had already hung up the phone.

He doesn't have a sister. Phoenix stopped pacing and stood in the glaring concrete tapping his chin thoughtfully. He grinned—there was a girl version of Edgeworth! Well—not that he thought of Edgeworth—Phoenix Wright doesn't have to explain himself to anyone!

Phoenix turned on his heel and marched back into the courthouse and headed back into to the records room. He'd just have to look harder.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Yay! Phoenix to cheer everyone up!**_

_First flashback immediately following the Hammond Murder Trial. _

_Second flashback from just over two years ago—Phoenix is 21-22._

_Lol… Nancy Grace gets on my nerves too. _

_In PW:AA:TT (third game) Phoenix goes over an old case of Mia's in the last episode "Bridge to Turnabout" [covered in Turnabout Beginnings]. Phoenix is curious—trying to find it here—but doesn't actually find it. (I hope that made some sense to the other person that reads this besides me)._

_A translation of Edgeworth's stuffy nose conversation—for anyone who didn't get it:_

"Edgeword." **Edgeworth**

"Hello Ride, I was workin'. What are you doin?"

**Hello Wright, I was working. What are you doing?**

"By allergies hab flared up. So I'b takin' a persodal day—sort ob…"

**My allergies have flared up. So I'm taking a personal day—sort of…**

"Dope." **Nope**

"I'b at da dry big rage," **I'm at the driving range**

"Sorry about dat. You're welcome to join be if you wad, howeber, I ab attedig to some berry serious bidness and I whoa be abailable all day."

**Sorry about that. You're welcome to join me if you want, however, I am attending to some very serious business and I won't be available all day.**

"Doh, I'b at da _dry big rage_. If you cub out to da Palms on da Horizon, da cubhouse is ride awe da bain road."

**No, I'm at the driving range. If you come out to the Palms on the Horizon, the clubhouse is right off the main road.**

"I hab to take by sister to da airport, Bud udder dan dat doh."

**I have to take my sister to the airport, but other than that, no.**

"Bye Ride." **Bye Wright.**


	33. Facio ut Facias

**Chapter 33**

**Facio ut Facias**

_Damon Gant exited the elevator on the twelfth floor and sauntered through the corridor toward the Chief Prosecutor's office. He was grinning broadly and puffing out his chest—the better to show off his garish new suit—after all it was a great day. A red-letter day. The looks thrown his way as he passed only fed his desire for attention. Never mind what these slimy little lawyers were saying—he had won the day._

_ He rapped on Lana's door with his knuckles and entered without waiting for her to acknowledge. He found her smoothing her skirt and sitting back down—having just stood to let him in._

_ "Damon," she said with a forced smile and a tone better suited to reprimand, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"_

_ Damon locked her door behind him and plopped onto her leather sofa and rested back right ankle on his left knee._

_ "Cheer up kiddo—this'll be fun!" He said grinning._

_ "Em," Lana said, "I saw Starr was let go."_

_ "It had to happen," Damon said and his smile faded, "Marshall went home to bury his brother."_

_ Lana looked away from him. So, she was still infatuated with that idiot detective, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully—time will let it fade._

_ "Time and maybe a little effort to hide him away…" he muttered under his breath._

_ "What was that?" Lana said._

_ He sat up and cleared his throat, "Tell me, how are you fitting in?"_

_ "As well as expected," Lana said, "And as you'd expect, a lot of the more senior prosecutors aren't very enthused about my appointment."_

_ "Just stick to Manfred, nobody knows this business like he does," Damon glanced at his fingernails._

_ "Him especially," Lana said, "Pretty much the only prosecutor who isn't giving me grief is Edgeworth."_

_ "Hm," Damon snorted absently._

_ "You can do this," he said and stood, "I'm going to have a chat with Manfred. You know where to find me if you need anything."_

_ With that, he departed her office and strutted back down the corridor past the elevators and into the High Prosecutor's Office. The door was already open so he went in and looked around. No sign of Von Karma—but the kid was there. Damon grinned and approached Manfred Von Karma's desk. Miles Edgeworth was standing to one side of it pulling case files from the shelf._

_ "May I help you?" Edgeworth said, but those gray eyes weren't quite so welcoming. He added the file he was holding to the stack on the desk then straightened and crossed his arms._

_ "I was looking for Manfred," Damon said and he couldn't help smiling at the young man's stance._

_ "I'm sorry," Edgeworth said, "Mister Von Karma isn't here."_

_ Damon stared wistfully at the young man's face—he'd grown up to be very handsome—and still, the smooth cheek and the gray eyes made almost translucent by the sunlight streaming in through the window pointed to the boy he'd remembered._

_ "He didn't say when he'd be back," Edgeworth said; probably taking Damon's silence as a request for elaboration._

_ "I've got time," Damon said, and he pulled one of the heavy leather chairs away from Von Karma's desk and sat down. Edgeworth didn't even spare him a look before returning to his chore. Damon watched him, fascinated._

_ 'Put me down,' large gray eyes, lashes stuck together—still wet from his tears—the boy looked determined in spite of his recent emotion, 'I'm not a little kid.'_

_ 'Oh all right,' Damon had told him smiling as he set the skinny little boy on his feet. Miles Edgeworth stared up at him, knobby knees poking out at the bottoms of his shorts, socks pulled up over his calves, a little clip-on bow tie at the throat of his button down shirt._

_ "You know," Edgeworth said interrupting his reverie, "There's a visitor's room in the prosecution lobby—on the ninth floor."_

_ "Thank you," Damon said, "But I'm fine right here."_

_ Edgeworth faced him and scratched at his hairline, suddenly looking a little flustered, "It's just that…"_

_ "Don't worry about me—Manfred and I are old friends."_

_ "He prefers not to keep his office unlocked when he's not here—I have to lock up."_

_ "Edgeworth? Is it?"_

_ "Yes, and you're Detective Gant—"_

_ "Police Chief," Damon corrected._

_ "That's right…" Edgeworth paused, "Congratulations on your appointment."_

_ "Thank you," Damon grinned, "I was starting to think you'd forgotten who I was."_

_ Edgeworth gave him a dark look, "You were involved in the Joe Darke investigation.."_

_ Damon frowned as Edgeworth walked out of the office with an armload of case files. He glared around the office, heavy imposing furniture crowded the space. The massive desk sparse, save for a small desk organizer with pens and other accoutrements necessary for an office. The computer was shoved to one side looking abandoned._

_ Edgeworth entered the office again without the case files, there was a touch of pink on his cheeks. He glanced at Damon once before piling together another load of case files. Damon smiled at Edgeworth's back—he had on a pair of magenta slacks with a very unflattering pleat at his narrow hips. But his black vest clung garishly to angles of his body, the crisp white shirt ballooned at the sleeves and it bunched at the bottom of the vest where his movements had caused the garment to rise._

_ "I could give you a hand," Damon said. Edgeworth looked up at him as if only just remembering he'd been sitting there._

_ "Um," Edgeworth said and Damon grinned at his hesitation, "Very good. That way I can lock the office."_

_ Damon grabbed up the remaining case files and watched Edgeworth put on his jacket before picking up his load. There was a pause for Edgeworth to lock the door and then he led Damon toward the stairwell._

_ The tenth floor had several open workspaces for paralegals, interns—whatever the DA needed to keep running—Damon didn't work here. Several closed offices stood at the periphery and Edgeworth led Damon toward one of them._

_ The office was cramped and windowless. It was spare with only the bare necessities to call it an office, and tidy save for the stacked files and books. Damon was still studying the room when his eyes fell on Edgeworth._

_ "Please excuse the clutter, I'm quite busy as you can see."_

_ "A bit of light reading?" Damon said. _

_ "If you go down one level you'll see reception—they can point you toward the visitor's area. They'll also be able to notify you upon Mister Von Karma's return."_

_ "I'd rather stay here with you," Damon said._

_ "Hmm," Edgeworth said, "I'd rather you didn't Chief Gant."_

_ Damon smiled, the kid was getting nervous—he didn't want to push his luck._

_ "I'll see you around, then Edgeworth," and he went back up to bother Chief Skye._

_ He finally caught Manfred Von Karma in the garage after he'd given up and decided to leave. Von Karma had just arrived and was distracted in removing his briefcase from a late model Mercedes Benz._

_ "Manfred," Damon boomed at him from his end of the parking garage._

_ "What are you doing here Gant? This area is for Prosecutors only."_

_ Damon grinned, "I know people."_

_ "Hmph," Von Karma said, "This place is falling apart."_

_ "Actually, I was here to call on you," he clapped, "Aren't you lucky?"_

_ "What do you need now?"_

_ "Shush, Manny," Damon said approaching near enough to clap Von Karma's shoulder, "You don't need to take that tone of voice with me."_

_ "Really Detective," Von Karma said, "I really must get to the office."_

_ "Ah—Chief of Police, if you please Manny," Damon said, "You're right, you should get to your office, you haven't been in all day."_

_ "I had a trial this morning," Von Karma said, "Some of us have to maintain the status quo."_

_ "I see," Damon grinned, "Well, I am truly sorry for implying that you weren't doing something constructive for the district. You should train the brat to pass on proper information."_

_ "Did Edgeworth tell you otherwise?" Von Karma sighed and set his briefcase on the floor, "He's been distracted lately."_

_ Damon let out his booming laugh, "I like him, Manfred. He's a very nice kid—Little Worthy."_

_ "One more time," Manfred said and crossed his arms, "What do you need?"_

_ "I thought we could go upstairs," Damon said—suddenly serious, "Somewhere less… public."_

_ "I don't have time for your games Gant," Von Karma said._

_ "Trust me Manny, I'm not here for games."_

_ "Get on with it or good day!"_

_ "What do you think of Lana Skye?"_

_ "Really, Gant? You came here—to me—to advocate for your little puppet?"_

_ "I'd appreciate it if you helped the kid out—show her the ropes."_

_ "I am not going to validate your obvious machinations by training your imbed as well."_

_ "I thought we were friends Manny? What are friends for?"_

_ "I don't think so, Gant. This little move was the last straw."_

_ "You know, I've always liked working with you Manfred—I find your methods very… Efficient. A wonderful complement to my own labors. I'd hate to see this symbiosis dissolve for no good reason."_

_ "Then put me in her place," Manfred said, "She can work her way up from a more reasonable position."_

_ "I like my girl more than I like you. I like her where she's at. I can always find someone more… malleable… if you're ready to retire." _

_ "What exactly are you insinuating, Gant?" Manfred said meeting his eye._

_ "Nothing," Damon said grinning, "Be nice to my girl, Manny."_

* * *

He knocked once and entered, grinning when he saw Lana standing as if to answer the door.

"Lana," he bellowed excitedly, she flinched and stared up at him like a rabbit in a cage.

"Good morning, Damon," she said, "I wasn't expecting a visit so soon after—"

"Do you have good news?"

"Uh… Well, nothing terrible has happened—since the thing with Von Karma…"

"I'm talking about Edgeworth," Damon said glaring at her over the top of his tinted glasses, "Were you able to… secure his cooperation—"

"No Damon," Lana said looking worried, "But not for lack of trying. He's not exactly receptive to my—um—persuasion…"

Damon raised an eyebrow, "You said you had everything under control."

"Well," she said rubbing her forehead, "I feel like I have a good working relationship with him… I feel like he trusts me—at least in that regard."

"Lana, Lana, Lana… Sweetheart… I need a High Prosecutor I can work with. Worthy's got his nose buried so deep in regulations, half my detectives are afraid to work with him. I need something to control him with…"

"He's just not…" Lana began, "I don't think he'll ever consider a relationship with a superior—it's blatantly unethical… I mean, since he was indicted in the Hammond trial, the rumors are circulating more openly—but I don't even think that bothers him. Edgeworth is a stone. An island."

Damon started to laugh, "You've been sitting here too long Lana. You're starting to get soft—and lawyer-ish…"

"I am a lawyer now, Damon."

"What if I hire someone to 'distract' him a bit?"

"I don't think that's going to work either…"

"What is he? A virgin? Is he gay? Maybe we've been taking the wrong approach…"

"Damon, why don't we just ease off of him, and try to work around him instead? Edgeworth might be a stickler for procedure, but he isn't incorruptible. Even just taking into consideration his proximity to Von Karma is enough to taint him. I mean—you do hear folks talking, don't you? I don't think we should be worried about Edgeworth at all…"

"What about Payne?"

"He's so blinded by his ambition and envy, I think he'll do anything I ask him without question."

"So tell me again why you made Edgeworth the High Prosecutor?"

Lana glared at him for a moment, "I don't have the experience to run this department… Edgeworth is the most knowledgeable prosecutor I have in this district—despite his relative inexperience. We need to keep some semblance of order if you want to keep this going."

"Hmm," Damon said, "I can take care of him myself…"

"Damon," Lana said, "I'm glad you dropped by though, I do have some distressing news."

Damon gave her a dark look, "Distressing news?"

"Yeah," Lana said, "an inter-department memo was sent out this morning via e-mail…"

"In regard to what?"

"Our annual spring cleaning—Evidence transferral…"

Damon shrugged, "I'm concerned about it this year because—why?"

"SL-9 is on that list," Lana said.

"What? Already? Who authorized that memo?"

Lana glared at him for a moment, "Damon this is why I always tell you to read your e-mails. You authorized that memo. I haven't had the chance yet to sanitize the documents related to that case."

"Who's case was that?"

Lana looked at him incredulously, "Prosecutor Edgeworth's…"

"Is he in? Let me go talk to him," Damon said.

"He's not in today," Lana said, "His sister is visiting and she leaves tomorrow… So I let him take some personal time—ordered him to."

"That might be what saves us," Damon said.

"Hmm, maybe," Lana said unconvinced.

"Don't give me that snooty little attitude, girly," Damon said, "I've been telling you to get Edgeworth under control for months."

Lana crossed her arms stubbornly.

"Do you have access to his office?"

"Yes," she said, "Just the main door. I won't have access to his desk or his safe."

"We better see what we can find," Damon said.

* * *

_Damon saw it sitting in the parking lot in front of the police department. He couldn't believe his eyes, he had to back up and look again. An Alfa Romeo GTV—2001 GTV Cup Special Edition —in pristine condition… There were less than two hundred of these cars ever made._

_ Damon slid his sunglasses away from his face and stared a moment longer. He wanted to go up and touch it. He continued toward his own parking space located within an enclosed parking area with a separate entrance into the building._

_ But Damon decided not to enter through the back. After parking he walked back out toward the main entrance to the building to look at the little car in the parking lot. The driver had a parking pass—so he was city employee. Interesting, that a city employee could afford a car like that. Damon smiled and rubbed his chin._

_ It took a lot of willpower to turn his attention—and his steps—back toward the building. One more glance at the parking lot before he passed through the sliding glass doors._

_ "Good morning Chief!" the security officer greeted him—the young man looked startled to see the Police Chief enter through the main entrance._

_ Damon swaggered through the corridors and onto the open work floor of the Criminal Affairs Department—his old stomping ground._

_ "Chief," a couple of detectives greeted as they passed him._

_ Damon nodded at them—but gave no other acknowledgement. He did, however, see something that definitely needed an acknowledgement…_

_ "Gumshoe!"_

_ "Chief!" Gumshoe nearly jumped up from his chair, "Morning Pal—uh… Chief. How 'bout those Dodgers?"_

_ "Are you browsing the internet, detective?"_

_ "Uh… Yeah Chief," Gumshoe grinned stupidly up at him._

_ "This part of your investigation?"_

_ "Well," Gumshoe said, "Kinda…"_

_ Damon shoved the detective over and looked at the screen, "The SPCA? What does this have to do with—"_

_ "It's a dog, pal," Gumshoe said, sliding his rolling chair over to reclaim the computer._

_ "A dog?"_

_ "The culprit," Gumshoe said, "and I got a lead that he's already landed in the dog house."_

_ "What are you really up to?"_

_ Gumshoe looked at him frowning, "I was just… I have a friend that lives alone, and I don't think he likes it… So I thought I'd find a dog for him…"_

_ "A dog?"_

_ Gumshoe nodded._

_ "For your friend?"_

_ "Yeah pal—I mean Chief," Gumshoe said, "I had a few minutes to spare and my internet got turned off again… so… so I…"_

_ "So you used government resources to help your 'friend' while taxpayers basically gave up their wages to pay you to waste time…"_

_ "Huh…" Gumshoe said, "Yeah… I guess…"_

_ Damon shook his head and stood to walk away, "Why don't you get to work Gumshoe? You're single-handedly ruining this department's reputation."_

_ "Sorry, Chief," Gumshoe said._

_ Damon turned in the direction of his office—but he paused when he heard that haughty baritone ring out across the work floor…_

_ "Gumshoe, stop playing around, let's go."_

_ Damon turned to see Edgeworth approaching Gumshoe's desk with a file under his arm. The young prosecutor looked harried—there was subtle blush over his nose and cheeks and his hair stood up in places—and despite the climate controlled interior of the building, he was wearing a raincoat over his suit._

_ "Worthy!" Damon said and grinned. Edgeworth looked up to meet his eye but didn't answer._

_ "Take care Chief!" Gumshoe said as he lumbered after Edgeworth._

_ Damon turned to follow them and stopped them in the corridor just outside the glass doors of the criminal affairs division._

_ "Edgeworth," Damon said, "Where're you off to in such a hurry?"_

_ "Chief Gant," Edgeworth said by way of greeting, he made a show of checking his obnoxious watch, "I've a meeting to get to, but I was going to drop Detective Gumshoe at his crime scene."_

_ Gumshoe was nodding emphatically at what Edgeworth said—grinning when the prosecutor mentioned his name._

_ "Was there something you needed, Chief?" Edgeworth finished in a tone that said he didn't really want to stay and chat._

_ Damon grinned—oh, yeah… That made a lot of sense… "Edgeworth, you don't happen to know who drives that little Alfa out in the parking lot, do you?"_

_ Edgeworth's expression changed suddenly and he smiled a little, "The red GTV?"_

_ Damon grinned, "Is that one of the GTV Cup Specials from 2001?"_

_ "Number 146," Edgeworth said and his smile widened, "I didn't know you were that interested in European sports cars, Chief."_

_ Damon shrugged, "That's a race car, Worthy… Where the hell did you find one in that condition?"_

_ "Oh, well," Edgeworth said, "I'm the original owner."_

_ "It's a 2001…"_

_ "My Aunt bought it for me as a Christmas present… When I was nine."_

_ "I'm not going to ask—I don't think I'd understand… I don't suppose you'd let me take a spin—"_

_ "Perhaps," Edgeworth said, "as a passenger."_

_ "Have you had a chance to take her out on a course—maybe over at the old airfield…?"_

_ "No," Edgeworth said, "But I've… Well, I don't think I should be telling the Chief of Police how fast I drive…"_

_ Damon slapped Edgeworth on the shoulder so hard the kid almost dropped his files, he laughed enthusiastically at Edgeworth's little joke. The prosecutor blushed a little and checked his fancy watch._

_ "We have to get going, sir," Edgeworth said._

_ "Gumshoe, don't do anything to ruin that passenger seat," Damon said—still laughing._

_ Gumshoe looked lost, but he nodded, "Uh… Sure, Chief…"_

* * *

"At least he keeps it organized in here," Damon said pulling the files off of the shelf in groups of four and five.

"Please, Damon," Lana said, "He can't know that anyone's done this. Edgeworth can be as paranoid as Von Karma, sometimes."

Damon grunted in annoyance and joined Lana on the divan and began to thumb through the old cases. He glared at the rest of the room, in spite of the large piles of case files stacked haphazardly around the room, they kept it as Edgeworth had left it. Tidy, pristine—kind of like the prosecutor himself.

"So what part of these are we actually looking for?" Lana said, "I thought you had the evidence squared away."

"I need the prosecution's case. We need to make sure it's clean before it gets reviewed."

"Most of these are very old," Lana said setting aside another large file, "Von Karma's cases. These were put together by Faraday. Why does he have these—"

"Neil Marshall," Damon said, "I remember some of these cases—investigating them."

"I don't think we're looking in the right place," Lana said, "None of these cases were put together by Edgeworth—so far at least. He's got to have them squirreled away somewhere else."

"Heh, do you remember this?" Damon slid the oversized binder he was flipping through onto her lap and grinned, "Serenade Bridge—"

"Damon this isn't the time for reminiscence. What if he comes in while we've got all of these spread on the floor?"

"Bah," Damon said and shut the binder with a snap, "It's after four. If he was coming in he'd have come in sooner. Besides that e-mail was sent today, he probably hasn't seen it yet."

"Hmm. I don't think it's too far fetched to assume he checks his e-mail at home."

Damon stood up and started bundling together the files they'd already gone through and placing them on the shelf. Lana thumbed through another binder pausing in her perusal to read through a few case summaries.

"If there was something you needed, you might've just asked," they both froze; no one had heard him come in, probably because Edgeworth never used the elevator.

Miles Edgeworth stood just inside the door to his office, arms crossed and jaw clenched. His calm anger in startling contrast to the checkered shorts and fuchsia golf shirt he was wearing with a pair of brown leather boat shoes.

"Miles," Lana said. Damon grinned.

"What's the meaning of this?" Edgeworth said.

"Miles," Lana said, "You've got the largest library of case files in the building, we just needed to…"

Edgeworth's glare left the Chief Prosecutor and flew to the Police Chief, "You don't even work here."

Damon grinned and let go of the files he was returning to the shelf, letting them slide so that they lay haphazard on the shelf. He moved immediately to tower over the young man. He wasn't very much taller than Edgeworth, but he had at least a buck on him—and most of that was solid muscle. Edgeworth didn't move from where he was standing. He hadn't even flinched at Damon's sudden approach.

Damon hesitated; shocked that the young prosecutor seemed unfazed by his presence. Edgeworth shook his head and his hands moved to his hips, then he put his head down and pulled off his sunglasses.

"This is appalling…" Edgeworth said still calm, he looked up at Damon directly. Edgeworth's eyes were slightly bloodshot and it made him look a little wild. Damon started to laugh.

"Ho," he said pausing to catch his breath after his booming outburst, "Little Worthy, I thought you were on leave?"

Damon turned to look at Lana. Edgeworth didn't answer but his eyes started moving around the room assessing the damage.

"Like I said," Lana repeated, "I am the Chief Prosecutor, and we needed access to your archive—I am perfectly in my right."

Edgeworth folded his sunglasses and stuck them in the collar of his shirt, "Why didn't you call? I would've found your case for you in a matter of seconds."

Damon grinned while Edgeworth's gaze swept the room again, "You didn't have to tear the place apart."

Edgeworth stepped past him and moved to look at the files on the shelf, "You've gone and mixed them up too."

Damon caught Lana's eye; he couldn't stop smiling. Edgeworth was already stacking files together using some method of organization that seemed only to make sense to him. Lana stood and followed Damon into the hall. He pulled Edgeworth's door closed and pushed her up against the wall beside it.

"Damon."

"Don't say anything," he whispered harshly at her, "You've already failed a couple of times. That was a very close call."

"Damon, what are you—"

"I'm just going to talk to him," Damon said, "He's picking sides today."

"Don't hurt—"

"I'm just going to talk to him," Damon said and gave her a slight shove in the direction of her office. He turned and entered Edgeworth's office again. Damon locked the door behind him.

Edgeworth looked at him and shook his head as if reprimanding a child. Damon grinned.

"Something from Prosecutor Marshall?" Edgeworth asked.

"Actually," Damon said as he walked up to stand just behind Edgeworth, "We were looking for one of your cases."

"Mine?" Edgeworth turned to look at Damon directly, "Unfortunately, I don't keep those here."

Damon laughed, "Oh Worthy, always such a clever boy."

Edgeworth was staring at the files with disappointment; then he paused and checked his watch, "I have an engagement—I suppose these will have to lie put until tomorrow. Which case were you looking for? I can have it sent to Chief Skye in the morning."

"Edgeworth," Damon said.

"Chief?"

"What did you come in for?"

"What?" Edgeworth turned to face him and his eye caught on the hollow at the base of his throat where the ends of Edgeworth's collar bones met. Damon's breath caught in his throat, he'd never seen it before. Edgeworth seemed to have a particular fondness for wrapping up his neck. The sight was just as suddenly obscured when the young man turned to look at his desk, "Now, it seems I've quite forgotten what I came in for."

"Interesting," Damon said.

"Hmm," Edgeworth said, "Well, I wouldn't want to be late. So I must ask you to leave the office so I can lock up."

Damon smirked down at him, "Why bother? Obviously others have keys for this room."

"Chief Gant," Edgeworth said, "Please leave my office."

Damon grinned down at the young man. He tugged at Edgeworth's boldly colored golf-shirt. The material was thin—one of those breathable, stay-dry plastics, that everyone wore now a days, "What is this Edgeworth? A day at the beach?"

"No," Edgeworth said, "Golf."

Damon laughed, "and right in the middle of your game—where were you Worthy, nine? Eleven?"

"I didn't play today," Edgeworth said, "I just felt like driving."

"Oh you felt like driving? And right in the middle of that—whacking those little balls –you felt the need to swing by the office."

Edgeworth shrugged, "What difference does it make to you, Chief?"

Damon laughed out loud. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.

"I like this look on you, kid—casual but arrogant in its own way—it suits you."

Edgeworth answered him with a glare. Haughty little prick…

"You got nice legs Worthy, like a dancer," Damon continued as he closed in on the prosecutor, "Do you dance?"

"That's quite enough of that, sir," Edgeworth said, "Now, it's getting to be rather late in the afternoon, I'm sure the both of us have other places to be. If you would be so kind, Chief Gant…"

"You're my friend aren't you, Worthy?"

Edgeworth's brow twitched but he gave no other response.

"I know that I can ask my friends a favor, if I need one."

Silence.

Damon put a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder—the kid nearly jumped—ah so that's what it took.

"My friends always help me out," Damon said, "So I take care of them."

Edgeworth tried to shrug out of his grasp but Damon only clasped his taught little shoulder more tightly. Their eyes met, and he was pleasantly surprised to find a little bit of shock in those pale eyes. Damon grinned at him, tracing his collarbone beneath that shirt to where it brought him back to that hollow at the base of his throat. Edgeworth was frozen and stiff. Damon brought his face close to Edgeworth's—the kid smelled like sunscreen.

Suddenly Edgeworth threw up his arms, knocking away Damon's hold on him and walked casually toward his door. Damon followed, just as casually. He didn't chase—no sense in scaring the kid any more than he already was. Edgeworth glanced once at him over his shoulder and reached out to open the door. He hadn't realized it was locked until it was too late. That moment of hesitation was all Damon needed.

He grabbed Edgeworth from behind; one hand covering that handsome face and the other reached between his thighs and grabbed him by the meat of his groin. Damon laughed at the prosecutor's exclamation of shock and dismay as he lifted him bodily and swung him toward that garish divan. Damon missed and Edgeworth crashed against the floor and almost slid into that narrow space between the wooden frame of the divan and the floor. Before Edgeworth had a moment to regain his bearing and even attempt to stand, Damon had him laid out on his back. He straddled the younger man's much more gracile figure and leaned over him. His dark hands wrapped around that pale throat while Edgeworth beat futilely on Damon's arms.

Damon grinned down at him—watching the prosecutor's handsome face puff out; the skin darkened as more and more oxygen-deprived blood filled that face. Veins stood out in his temples and forehead. Edgeworth's pale lips were puckered and gasping like a fish, thin strands of saliva—like spider's silk clung to them. He couldn't even scream.

Damon couldn't help himself—the whole thing was kind of erotic; and he felt that tingle in his spine and a tightness in his groin where his member beckoned against the pants of his bright orange suit. Edgeworth was struggling underneath him—the young lithe body arched and squirmed and his ribcage swelled as his lungs beckoned for air. The kid had managed to clamp his hands around each of Damon's wrists. Those long pale fingers stood out starkly against Damon's tanned arms—this was too much!

Careful now, Damon urged himself—let's not break that pretty neck. He eased off as Edgeworth's struggling slowed and then he was still. Damon listened to his own ragged breathing for a moment before realizing he was the only one gasping for air. Edgeworth was staring at him blankly—mouth lax and open, eyes half-lidded. The color was slowly flushing out of his face.

Damon stared down at the still form—that hollow—the suprasternal notch—beckoned from that open collar. Edgeworth's neck was still red from Damon's throttling him. But the small triangle of chest visible beneath was smooth and pale.

Damon perused the body with his eyes, marveling at the way that garish shirt draped the planes and angles of that form. Before he realized what was happening, his hands were pushing up that shirt to reveal another white shirt beneath it. Damon paused for half a moment—he almost laughed.

Beneath the second shirt was the smooth, pale expanse of skin wrapped taught over muscle, sinew and bone. Damon swallowed and felt a small involuntary twitch between his thighs—the kid was beautiful.

"Why so modest my boy?" Damon grunted roughly under his breath. His own voice almost broke the spell.

With his thumb he traced a line along that flat belly—starting from the hollow beneath the sternum, following the line between the muscles to the pretty teardrop shape of his navel. Damon's breath quivered as he studied the young body—his own dark hands large and stark against the pale flesh.

Damon placed a large hand on either side of Edgeworth's hips and slid the body upward to get a better angle on the beltline. His hands trembled as he undid the belt and then the shorts Edgeworth was wearing. He tried sliding the clothing down and managed to get everything just below the hip where the muscles of the abdominal wall thinned leaving a shallow hollow between the hipbones and top of the pubic area. So pretty…

Edgeworth gasped suddenly and his arms and legs renewed the assault against their attacker. Damon startled and was rewarded with a clip to his chin that almost made him fall backward. Edgeworth sat up and struggled to free his legs from under Damon's bulk coughing and gasping. Damon laughed at him.

This was pure and absolute panic. Damon got up on his knees, laughing louder—this was what Miles Edgeworth looked like in his most vulnerable state. The little prosecutor slid and stumbled across the floor trying to pull up his shorts and get away simultaneously. He slid against the desk and rested there sucking in huge rasping breaths.

Damon stood and sighed. He moved toward the desk and watched Edgeworth cringe against the smooth dark wood. Cornered, the arrogant little prig still managed to glare hatefully up at him. Damon grinned.

"Get away from me!" Edgeworth managed to grunt out—his voice ragged and thin.

"Are you going to call the police on me Edgeworth?" Damon put a hand on the desk and leaned toward him. Edgeworth slid away from him and managed to jump up from his hiding place and stumble toward the bathroom, toppling a chess set on a pedestal.

Damon clapped as he watched the little chessmen slide across the floor in red and blue, he heard the lock turn on the bathroom door and smirked—like that would keep him out if he really wanted to get in.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Title: I do, that you may do. [I'll do something for you, so you can do something for me]**_

_Yo Dawg! I heard you liked flashbacks—so I put a flashback in your flashback so you could flashback while you flashback. _

_The first is a couple weeks after SL-9. Miles is 21 or 22._

_Second flashback is from around the same time as the first—just a different day._

_Were you worried that Miles was killed? I know I was…_

_OMG I hope this wasn't too much abuse. Poor thing…_

_Damon Gant's POV—in case you weren't sure. _


	34. Bag of Doughnuts

**Chapter 34**

**Bag of Doughnuts**

_ "Don't worry," Papa said and slapped little brother on the shoulder, "This doesn't take long and it's painless."_

_ "Papa," Franziska said, "Can I get a new dress?"_

_ "Franziska, you had a dress made last week, while Miles has out grown everything he owns. Not only that, how can I bring him with me to court when he doesn't have a proper suit?"_

_ "Oh fine!" Franziska said._

_ The three of them entered the tailor shop without a word. Miles walked behind her and Papa and he looked sort of upset._

_ "Manfred! Is that you?" he was a stocky man with large ears and a very round stomach._

_ "Ernesto?" Papa was grinning when they clasped hands. The two of them moved off to the side and began catching up with each other. Franziska stared at them for several moments and then looked up at Miles. He had his arms wrapped around his middle and he was staring at the floor a little morose._

_ "Miles," Franziska hissed at him._

_ He looked at her but said nothing._

_ "Who is that guy?"_

_ "He's friends with Mister Von Karma, he visited for your birthday a few years ago. Don't you remember?"_

_ She replied with an impatient click and turned away from him. Papa and that guy were still talking amongst themselves. The guy talked with an excited cadence to his voice. It rose and fell whenever his emotion changed. Papa's voice was a calm and steady drone—still she couldn't recall Papa speaking in such an unguarded manner._

_ She sensed Miles move behind her, his nervousness was palpable and seemed to hang heavily in the air around him. Franziska rolled her eyes at him while he continued to stare at the floor._

_ After several minutes of muffled conversation, that Ernesto guy asked about 'the kids' loudly enough that she looked toward them and Miles wrapped his skinny arms more tightly around his body._

_ One look from Papa signaled her to come forward—she had to tug Miles along to get him to follow._

_ "Franziska," Papa was telling that guy, "She's nine now, and she's taking lessons at a prestigious girls school and also beginning her private lessons in the law. You remember Miles Edgeworth, Ernie?"_

_ That guy was smiling at her politely, but he grinned when he looked at Miles, "My goodness, you've grown quite tall… But, Manfred, are you feeding the boy? All I see are arms and legs—ha ha!"_

_ Franziska saw Miles' face turn very red and she looked at that guy with a frown. Her frown deepened when Papa put an arm around Miles' shoulders and grinned, as if Miles' was his son._

_ "He's at that age—you know, all he does is grow taller," Papa told Ernesto._

_ "Well, Miles," Ernesto said, "How go your studies?"_

_ "Very well Mister Armano," Miles said, with obvious difficulty, "Mister Von Karma and I are going to Oxford in a few weeks."_

_ "Oxford, Manfred?" Mister Armano said, "How are you—?"_

_ "Don't worry about us, friend," Manfred said, "The boy's managed to make quite an impression on one of the Fellows at Exeter. We've been invited for a few days stay."_

_ "Impressive," Mister Armano said to Miles. Franziska frowned and slapped her hand with her riding crop._

_ "You know little Franzy, Lance was asking about you," Ernesto said._

_ "Why?"_

_ Papa and Mister Armano laughed. "You two are of like age, you should be friends."_

_ "Hmph," Franziska said, "I don't need to make friends with little boys."_

_ Mister Armano laughed again but Papa shot her a dark look._

_ "Lance is older than you," Mister Armano said._

_ Franziska glared and swung her arm back to tap Miles with her crop. He flinched violently and stepped back, "My little brother is older than Lance—and he isn't a chubby little—"_

_ "That's enough, Franziska," Papa said._

_ Mister Armano smiled politely, "Well, I should let you get back to your business. Always a pleasure, Manfred."_

_ "Perhaps I'll call—when we return from England," Manfred said._

_ "I look forward to it," Mister Armano said, "Take care, Miles—Franziska."_

_ After Mister Armano left them Papa pulled Miles forward so they could walk side by side. He didn't even turn to look at her, "Come along Franziska."_

* * *

The door was unlocked this morning. He must've opened it to let the dog out and forgot to lock it. Franziska smirked—Miles could be so lazy sometimes. Dawn was breaking—why was he still in bed? She pushed through the door and let herself in.

"Guten Morgen!" She shouted looking around his room.

"What?" She heard his voice, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Miles?"

"You might have knocked at the very least," he said.

"Where…? Are you under the bed?"

"No," he said.

Franziska leaned over the expanse of bed only to see his shadow moving on the wall. She climbed up on his bed and crawled over to see what he was doing.

"Miles!" she laughed, "Miles Edgeworth are you working out in your room?"

"Go away," he said.

"You must be tired of looking like a bag of doughnuts," she laughed.

He paused mid crunch and glared up at her. Then he went back to his exercises.

"I don't look like a bag of doughnuts," he said under his breath.

Franziska just laughed again, "You need to do thirty-two million of those, jelly belly!"

Miles stopped and sat up. He was blushing and frowning at the same time. She couldn't stop laughing. Miles was always so sensitive about how he looked.

"I wish you hadn't come in here," he said and stood.

"Then you should have got up earlier," she said.

He had a t-shirt on above his pink pajama bottoms and was putting the top of his pajamas back on with jerky angry movements. She sat up in the bed and giggled at him.

"You don't have to be rude either," he said as he turned toward the bathroom.

"Miles Edgeworth, did I hurt your feelings? Aww, poor jiggle-jam!"

Miles shot a glare at her and entered the bathroom.

"You should take off your shirt and let me see," She teased.

"No," he said, "I don't want you to make fun of me." He slammed the bathroom door.

"Miles!" Franziska said and she slid off the bed and walked toward the bathroom, "Please don't cry… Not everyone can be as perfect as me!"

"There's no such thing," his voice returned muffled through the door. She heard the shower turn on—he used to do that so he could pretend he couldn't hear her.

Franziska glared at the door and clenched her fists.

"Don't take too long, I want to do something fun—since it's my last day here."

No reply.

She turned and stormed out of his room.

At least Mrs. Kucharka had breakfast ready. Toast and pastries and cheese and roasted tomatoes on the sideboard. Franziska poured hot water into the teapot and set it aside before taking a seat at the table.

She sat, staring at the few tendrils of steam that escaped from the teapot. She couldn't wait to go home—until today. She was flying out tomorrow—who knew when she'd see Miles or her father again? She leaned forward and adjusted the silverware at the place setting in front of her. No, she thought, it would be good to go home. She could get a few more trials under her belt—maybe show her little brother how to win again.

Franziska picked up her napkin and spread it across her lap, taking a few moments longer to smooth it out. She reached forward and took the teapot and poured herself a cup. At least, if she was at home, she would have an excuse to take her breakfast alone—Miles was proving to be a rather inattentive host.

She was sipping at her second cup of tea when he walked in reading the newspaper. His hair was still wet and he had most of it slicked back and out of his face. Miles was wearing a sweater vest over an un-tucked dress shirt and gray slacks.

"Miles why are you wearing that stupid sweater?"

He stopped beside her seat and looked at her, "I felt like it," he said, and folded the paper sloppily and handed it to her before continuing to his own seat at the table.

"It's supposed to get warm today," she said.

"I know," he grumbled, "I can't wait for that dratted marmot to see his shadow so we can enjoy a few more weeks of winter…"

Franziska laughed, "What?"

He shook his head, "Never mind."

"I like it when the Spring comes," she said wistfully.

"Hmph," Miles said standing to reach for the teapot, "I don't."

"Because of your stuffy little nose?" she laughed.

He glared at her for a moment before standing to serve himself from the sideboard. He refused to speak to her anymore. He ate quickly and left the table looking a little disgruntled. Franziska never understood why he got so worked up over fat jokes and her poking fun at his pollen allergy—Miles was allergic to pretty much all pollen.

She took her time at the table and when she finished she went through the drawing room and peered into his library. He was through several files in a drawer in his desk, and checking them against a sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?"

"They sent out the memo in regard to Evidence Transferral this year. I thought I'd get a head start and pull the cases I'm responsible for."

"So… I'm not sure what you're talking about—but it sounds like you're working. You said you weren't going to work today."

Miles frowned at her, "I'm not—this will only take a minute."

Franziska made a noise. Miles' phone rang.

"Edgeworth," he said, "oh… What a… um… surprise…"

Franziska tried to glare him down so he'd stop—just for one day. He refused to look at her while he was on the phone.

"Actually, I have those files here. Perhaps we can meet later and go over them… No, I can't do that."

"Are you serious?" Franziska spat at him. Is he really planning a meeting today?

"I'll get a message to Detective Gumshoe—it'll probably be around lunchtime… Okay, sounds good… Right, okay… Bye."

"Don't whine at me when I'm on the phone," he said after he'd ended the call.

"I wasn't—"

"What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to spend time—"

"Sure," Miles interrupted, "We'll be together… Do you want to play a round of golf? It's a weekday, so there won't be very many people at the club. We'd have the whole place pretty much to ourselves."

"Eww, Miles!" Franziska said wrinkling her nose, "Why do you like to do old man stuff?"

"Why is golf an 'old man' thing?" Miles retorted, "If you don't want to do that, then what's your suggestion?"

"Let's go to the beach!"

"Um," he gave her a bland look, "No."

"Oh why not? It's pretty warm today," Franziska grinned, "Please, Miles?"

Miles looked horrified all of a sudden, "I can't."

"Why?"

"Because the only sunscreen I have is only SPF 50 and no one sells SPF 95 until after Memorial Day. I just might get sunburned."

"Miles, it won't be a bad sunburn—it's still technically winter… The sun isn't that strong yet."

"You say that until I do get sunburned and then I'll get cancer and die. Is that what you really want?"

"Miles what are you? Seven? Don't be foolish."

"I don't want to go to the beach, I want to hit golf balls. We don't even have to play, we could just go to the range and hit balls. I'm pretty sure all of my drivers are too long for you, but you can use a wood—just to practice your swing."

"You lost me at the part about the range," she said.

"What about—you're a girl—I'm sure you like spa stuff…"

"Will you come with me?"

"Franziska, while I'm not usually bothered by what's considered proper based on the gender roles we've grown up with, I do have to draw the line somewhere…"

"It's not gay to go and pamper your body a bit—in fact I think it's kind of sexy that a guy would go to a spa with his girlfriend."

"Well see? There's another reason I shouldn't go with you."

"Miles!"

"But there's a spa in the same campus as the country club—I can play golf and you can get…um… exfoliated."

"What?"

"Then afterward we'll come here and get dressed up and have a nice dinner somewhere…"

"Oh really?"

"I think that's quite in order," Miles smiled at her.

"Can I bring my friends?"

"Ah… no…"

"What if they just come to the spa with me?"

Miles groaned, "I suppose that might be more enjoyable for you."

"Oh Miles! This is going to be awesome!"

"Yay…" Miles said, very unenthused.

* * *

_Franziska turned over in that little bed—she hated this room. Usually Heidi let her share her bed—but that Eddie person was staying with her. Franziska sat up and turned her pillow over. She paused to peer at her little brother. He was silent on the floor in a borrowed sleeping bag._

_ "Miles," she hissed into the darkness. He didn't respond so she climbed out of the blankets and crawled over the bed to look at him closely. He was sleeping peacefully for a change. She stayed there perched on the edge of the bed watching her little brother sleep, jealous of the soft steady sound of his breathing._

_ She groaned and crawled back toward the head of the bed and wiggled ungracefully into the covers. She glared at the shadows the moon cast on the ceiling and pouted. No one would see her in the dark, not like that._

_ She missed Papa—wanted him; because it was obvious Heidi liked Miles more than she liked her. Now that Eddie was here it was weirder visiting than it had been. Eddie liked Miles too—because Miles was a boy and he liked stupid boy things. Franziska was a lady; she didn't need to come all the way out here just to play house with her big sister and her stupid Eddie._

_ The heat rose in her cheeks and she stared hard at the ceiling—why did Papa send them away? And why Heidi? Why wouldn't he let her see her mother? Franziska couldn't remember just how long it had been since she'd last seen her mother—she couldn't remember her face. Miles gasped in his sleep and Franziska sat up again._

_ "Miles," she hissed. No response._

_ What was Heidi thinking? Miles always had nightmares. How can anyone sleep in the same room as him? Why else would Papa make him sleep on the other side of the house?_

_ She leaned forward and eventually climbed back out of the blankets again and crawled over to look at her little brother. He kicked at the covers and he turned his head in quick, jerky movements. He whimpered softly into his pillow._

_ "Miles!" she said into the dark again._

_ "Daddy…" Miles said plaintively. He'd wake up soon—Miles always frightened himself awake. Franziska stared at him—she'd seen him in the throes of his terrors before—but it was fascinating. Like a train wreck. She just couldn't turn her head away._

_ "No… please don't…" he mumbled so mournfully it made her frown._

_ Franziska turned so that her legs were out in front of her and slid off of the bed. She knelt beside Miles' head._

_ "Miles'," she whispered again and she put a small hand against the back of his head, "Brüderchen…"_

_ He kicked against the sleeping bag and he struck at his own face and head with his fists. Franziska grabbed one of his arms and tugged at it with all of her might. He pulled back and she fell over him. Miles gasped and she pushed herself up to find him staring at her._

_ "Franzis—"_

_ "You were dreaming, little brother," she said._

_ "Did I wake you? I'm so sorry, Franziska," He said and he turned himself over and sat up._

_ "It's okay, Brüderchen… You can't help if you cry in your sleep like a little baby."_

_ Miles stared at her for a moment and then rubbed his eyes. He pulled his knees up with the sleeping bag still wrapped around them._

_ "Miles," Franziska said, "I can't sleep."_

_ "I'm sorry," he said._

_ "I don't like that bed," she whined._

_ "What's wrong with it?"_

_ "It's too big and cold," she said._

_ He frowned at her, "It not so big as your own bed at home."_

_ Franziska grabbed his hand, "Miles please, tuck me in."_

_ He stood and shoved out of the sleeping bag, "Come on, then."_

_ "No," Franziska said, "Pick me up."_

_ At twelve, Miles wasn't very much bigger than her, but he bent to let her wrap her arms around his neck and put a hand on her back and under her legs and put her on the bed. He pulled the covers back so she could crawl back under them and when she was comfortable he pulled them up under her chin._

_ "Is that better?" Miles said and he looked down at her from where he stood. The moon reflected in the dark pools of his eyes and picked out highlights in his sleep-tousled hair._

_ "You should sleep here too," Franziska said, "So you can feel safe, and then you won't have to cry."_

_ Miles stared at her; a frown dragged down the corners of his mouth._

_ "Please, Miles?"_

_ Miles surprised her by climbing into the bed and sliding into the covers beside her._

_ Franziska took his hand under the covers and he squeezed back. She snuggled against him and he held her until she drifted off to sleep._

* * *

He came in hours late, wearing a raincoat over his golf shirt and shorts. He had his head down and his shoulders hunched and his hair was tousled a bit.

"Miles Edgewor—"

"Please," he said, his voice dangerously low, "Just leave me alone."

She was shocked and it was all she could do to stare mutely at him as he disappeared into the back of the flat. When she snapped out of it she stomped toward his room and followed him in. But he wasn't there—then she noticed the shower was going and the black raincoat he'd been wearing was tossed onto the bed.

"Where have you been? Were you at work this whole time?!"

Nothing—just the rushing of water from the shower.

"And you couldn't even call? I was waiting! I've been waiting!"

Still no answer.

"I'm leaving tomorrow and you couldn't be bothered to take me out to dinner!" she banged her fists on the door. "You're a liar, Miles Edgeworth! I hate you!"

It hurt. He'd been so convincing in his promises earlier. Instead he went to the office and stayed—for over five hours! It was like she didn't matter to him at all. Why was he like this to her?

Franziska stomped huffily out of his room. She went straight into the guest room she'd been using. All of her bags were packed and ready—a reminder of the latest lost opportunity. Of the cruelty Miles had inherited from her father. They never had time for her—never. Then Papa was thrown in prison. Now she was flying back to Germany.

Franziska threw herself onto the bed and fell into a fit of angry, resentful tears. She didn't pay attention to how long it went on. But the longer it went the more she remembered all the times Miles told her 'tomorrow' and 'maybe later' or 'I'll make time, I promise.' He was so mean to her—so condescending. He had no right to treat her like that—no right!

The anger was starting to dissipate and the tears were starting to slow when Mrs. Kucharka came in with a mug on a tray. The cook sat beside her on the bed and put a hand on her back. Franziska sat up beside her but kept her head turned away. The tears stopped, but her breathing was still interrupted by sobs. Mrs. Kucharka said nothing. In a way, that seemed better than having to explain all of it to a stranger.

"Thank you," Franziska mumbled when the woman offered the mug—spiced red tea.

The two of them were still sitting quietly when Wellington poked his head into the doorway.

"Begging your pardon," he said, "But do you know what happened?"

Franziska glared at him—she didn't feel like talking to him. Mrs. Kucharka shook her head innocently.

"I should go check on him," and he was gone. Mrs. Kucharka took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Why do you crying?"

"Nothing… No reason," Franziska said. She took another draught from the mug.

"My brother is a very mean person," she said suddenly, "He promised he would take me to dinner somewhere nice—because I'm leaving tomorrow. But instead he went to his office and stayed there."

"He was working?"

"Yeah," Franziska said, "But he wasn't—he didn't have to. He had no reason to stay there."

She shook her head—not wanting to dive back into crying. Not while Mrs. Kucharka was sitting there.

"NO IT ISN'T!"

Both of them looked toward the door at the shout. It sounded like Miles—but Franziska had never heard him shout quite so loudly. Neither of them made a move to stand. There was the sound of cabinets being opened and slammed shut and a muffled argument in the corridor that led to the back room.

"Miles! Come with me now!" Wellington's voice rose. More shuffling with the added click and jingle of Pess. The sound of the front door opening and then closing. Complete silence.

Franziska hesitated and then stood to look out into the drawing room toward the entryway. A moment later, Mrs. Kucharka was with her. They walked toward the front door together. There was nothing there; no sign of anything—Franziska gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

"Is that… Blood?"

Mrs. Kucharka bent down to peer at the dark drop on the wooden floor. She gasped and covered her mouth too. Franziska ignored her and turned to run toward the back room.

She pushed the door open with trepidation, but upon entering and turning on the light—there didn't seem to be anything amiss in his room. The light in the bathroom was still on and she went to that door and pushed it open. Franziska almost screamed.

There was blood on the sink and a few drops on the floor. Water was puddled in a few small areas outside the shower door. The water was tinged pink. Franziska could feel tears welling up again.

The floor was covered in shards of glass—there was glass everywhere—and she looked up and noticed that the large mirror above the sink was shattered. Completely shattered—he must've hit it several times with whatever he was using to smash the mirror. From the amount of blood in the room, it seemed he'd used his bare hands.

"Miles Edgeworth… what?"

She was sitting on the divan in the drawing room, arms crossed, and rocking slightly. She was still reeling from what she'd seen in Miles' bathroom. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she was very frightened.

She jumped a little when the front door opened and Pess pushed her way in ahead of Miles and Wellington. Pess ran directly to her and started to lick her hands and knees emphatically. Franziska could only stare at Miles, inside she warred with feelings of deep relief and shattering betrayal. He didn't look at her, but he left Wellington to join her on the divan.

He stared off toward some unknown thing. His robe was pulled close around him, but she could see the stark white bandages on his hands. In a few places he was starting to bleed through them. And he just sat there. All she could do was stare at him. The drawn profile with hair nearly obscuring his eyes. Miles' nose was straight and fine. He didn't say anything.

It felt like hours had gone by with the two of them wrapped up in an uncomfortable and heavy silence. Franziska couldn't take much more of this. When she was certain she could speak without losing it emotionally, she sat up a little and turned directly toward her brother.

"Miles," she said, "What happened?"

He didn't turn to look at her, but after a moment's hesitation, he cleared his throat, "The mirror in my bathroom broke."

"Did you break it?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Why?"

He shook his head. Franziska crossed her arms and her legs huffily and turned her head away from him.

"What were you _trying_ to do?"

No response.

"I think I know, and I'm pretty angry about it."

He swallowed, but said nothing.

"You're a fool, Miles Edgeworth—and an asshole."

He nodded.

"What am I going to do if you hurt yourself—really hurt yourself?"

No response.

"Don't you ever think about anyone besides yourself?"

He said nothing, but he turned his head away from her. Now she could only see his ear and the edge of his jaw.

"You're embarrassed—as well you should be. Stupid little fool…"

They fell back into silence. His reticence was maddening—it made her feel like she was talking to the wall. Miles could talk for hours about stupid things—like samurais or precedents in criminal law; the algebra one encounters in everyday life—but he never seemed eager to talk about himself. Since he was a boy, he was very introverted. Her little brother would have you believe that he was as unfeeling and uncaring as a stone.

He hiccoughed beside her. Franziska frowned at him.

"You scared me, Miles," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said; his voice was husky and he pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket on his robe and blew his nose.

She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently, "Did something happen to you while you were at the office?"

He shook his head.

"Miles, you're not upset because I said you look like a bag of doughnuts? Are you? I only said that to make you react."

Miles stared at her for several moments and then he laughed. Franziska exhaled in relief.

"It's getting late," he said and he blew his nose again and stood up. Franziska was shocked when he turned and offered her his hand.

"Are you going to tuck me in?"

He smiled slightly at that, but shook his head.

"Franziska, love…" he blushed a little and refused to meet her eye, "I don't think I… If you would…"

He swallowed and blinked at the floor.

"Miles?"

"I don't think I should be alone tonight…"

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! The moral of the story is: Don't go around telling people "you look like a bag of doughnuts". It's kind of mean.**_

_First flashback from when Miles is 14—you know, when boys really get growth spurting._

_Second flashback, Miles is twelve and Franziska is six/seven._

_Franziska's reaction to Miles' reaction to his being assaulted by Damon Gant._

_I hope this wasn't too weird for anyone—this chapter overlaps the previous chapter in the timeline—the first scene occurred in the morning—the day Gant visited Skye and learned about the memo. Obviously the second scene occurs following Miles' incident at the office—poor Franziska has no clue about it._

_Franziska's POV—I should've started this much sooner. _


	35. Daddy's Gone

**Chapter 35**

**Daddy's Gone**

_He rolled down the window and grinned at her as she and that Mei girl got out of the car. He'd sat up in the front passenger seat with Wellington. Franziska made a face at him and put her hands on his door._

_ "Are you sure you don't want to come along? You can take off that ugly shirt and get a massage," she said._

_ "That's creepy," he said, "And this shirt isn't ugly—one mustn't wear patterns with patterns."_

_ "Miles, you're an idiot," Franziska said walking toward the door to the spa resort. The Mei girl turned back and waved at him._

_ "Bye, Mister Edgeworth! Thanks for this!"_

_ Miles closed the tinted window and sat back in his seat. He looked at Wellington and grinned. The old man raised an eyebrow at him._

_ "What time should I return?" Wellington asked._

_ "No later than four," Miles said, "Unless I call—or she calls. If either of us calls, make sure you pick up the other as well."_

_ "Very good, sir," Wellington said, "Do enjoy yourself, today."_

_ "Yeah," Miles said, "I have to meet those detectives at some point, but I'll get a few good drives in before they show up."_

_ Wellington smiled and Miles gave him a nod and exited the black Lincoln. He went round to the trunk and after Wellington opened it from inside the car, he reached in and took out his clubs and his golf shoes. He slammed the trunk closed and watched Wellington drive away._

_ He was still making his way into the clubhouse when he saw the battered unmarked Crown Vic pull into the driveway. He paused and waited for Gumshoe to come out and walk with him into the building._

_ "Let me carry your clubs for you, Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said._

_ "Um," Miles said, "Okay."_

_ He let Gumshoe take the bag and shifted the shoes to his other hand. He held the door open for the detective and his clubs and followed him in._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," the attendant greeted him from not far off of the doorway, "I'm surprised to see you here—on a Wednesday too."_

_ "Hello, Andy," Miles said and he gestured toward detective Gumshoe, "He's with me."_

_ "That's fine Miles," Andy said, "Did you sign in?"_

_ "I'll do that now," Miles said, "I needed a place to have a meeting—is the Black Forest room available."_

_ "Miles," Andy said, "You've basically got the run of the place—at least until after three."_

_ Miles nodded and set his hands on the belt of his garish checkered shorts._

_ "What time did you need the conference room?" Andy asked pulling out a log book from the desk._

_ "I'm not sure," Miles looked at Gumshoe._

_ "They said they'd come around lunchtime—eleven or eleven-thirty," Gumshoe said, he seemed apprehensive in his current surroundings._

_ Miles gave Andy a crooked smile, "There you go."_

_ "Very good," Andy said, "How long do you want the room?"_

_ "Three-thirty—just to be safe," Miles said, "Who's out on the range?"_

_ "Just Mister Evermoore," Andy said, "and Carlos is out there to take care of anything you need."_

_ "Thank you," Miles said, he nodded at Gumshoe and led him outside into the courtyard._

_ "Wow, Pal," Gumshoe said looking around and gaping at the manicured grounds and the clean facilities. There was a stucco wall made to look like the old Spanish ranch style that surrounded several tennis courts and a white fence surrounding a large swimming pool, complete with a bar._

_ Miles didn't spare him a glance, but sat down in one of the real-wooden Adirondack chairs set up on the courtyard patio and took off the brown leather boat shoes he had on. He pulled his socks out of his pocket and slid them on and then he pulled on his golf shoes and took a moment to tighten them._

_ The chair beside him creaked a little as Gumshoe sat down. Miles reached over him and took his golf bag. In the pocket he kept a small tube of sunscreen._

_ "This is a very nice place," Gumshoe said._

_ Miles chuckled at him, "It's not bad."_

_ "How much do you pay to be a member here?"_

_ Miles looked up at him from where he'd been putting sunscreen on his legs, "Ah… I forget."_

_ "Wow, pal," Gumshoe said, "I'll bet only the richest people come here. Do you see movie stars? Famous people?"_

_ Miles only smiled at him and slathered some of the lotion on his nose, "Max Tailor pays my membership. He's got it extended out to the next four years."_

_ "I never heard of him," Gumshoe said._

_ "He's a very important business owner in the area," Miles said, now sliding on a pair of gloves, "I'm going to the driving range."_

_ He slung his golf bag over his shoulder, Gumshoe scrambled out of his chair to grab them back but Miles stopped him with a look, "Just relax Gumshoe, keep an eye out for Marshall and Goodman. If you're thirsty, you can ask Andy to get you a drink."_

_ Gumshoe stared at him in sycophantic awe, "Really, Mister Edgeworth? Can I order whatever I want?"_

_ "Sure—" Miles began, "I mean no. You are on the job, after all. No alcohol."_

_ "Oh I wasn't going to—" Gumshoe mumbled and Miles gave him a wary sidelong glance before departing for the driving range._

_ He chose a station as far a way from Mister Evermoore as he could manage and set his golf bag on a stand. He chose his driver carefully and thanked Carlos when the man brought him a bucket of balls._

_ He let them fly. This was nice—nothing to think about except the angle at which he should hit the ball; the placement of his feet; how he'd turn his hip and the release in his follow through. He enjoyed the solitude and the personal challenge—for about forty minutes._

_ "Miles Edgeworth," Mister Evermoore had a very Southern accent. He might've been at home during the Civil War—sipping Mint Juleps on the porch of his plantation house—while the Nation fell apart around him._

_ "Eh, hello," Miles said not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice as he turned away from the net._

_ "You're a very garish young man, herm" he made that weird noise in his throat that always grated on Miles, "But I like it. I reckon Tiger Woods has a shirt like that."_

_ Miles made a face at him—really?_

_ "Herm erm," the man rumbled, "What are you drinking, dear son? I'll have Carlos bring out—"_

_ "Mister Evermoore," Miles said, "I'm not drinking anything."_

_ "But you should be! I reckon it's been hotter this week than it has been for a while—you must stay hydrated! I reckon I learned that from my days in the Army."_

_ Miles glared at him impatiently, wondering if Mister Evermoore was in the Confederate Army. Somewhere out on the grounds the rumble of a large mower began running—adding more pain and discomfort to his day. _

_ "I've been watching your drive, Miles," the old man said shaking his jowls and pausing to finish the drink in his hand—definitely a mint julep._

_ "You've got very good form," Miles' frown only deepened at the compliment, "I reckon you'd do very well at Blackhorse…"_

_ Miles could feel his nose growing stuffy and his eyes grow dry as the old man droned on about the PGA tour and the amateur opens that might be Miles' big chance to break out in the golf world—not that he ever planned to give up the law for something so silly as professional sports. Somehow the conversation slipped over to Georgia and the Masters—then Chatham County and the War of Northern Aggression._

_ Miles sneezed at him and the old man stopped._

_ "I'm sorry," Miles said._

_ "As you were, private!"_

_ Really? Miles felt his phone buzz in his pocket and surreptitiously searched for it while Mister Evermoore droned on about the blast of cannons and the fire at the armory—damn. He had gloves on and couldn't answer the phone. Miles smiled and nodded and yanked off a glove with his teeth. The phone rang again and Miles answered without checking the caller ID._

_ "Edgeword," Really? His face was clogged—he desperately needed to go inside and take some antihistamine._

_ "Where have you been?" Miles wasn't sure if he was relieved to hear him, but Phoenix Wright was definitely a welcome distraction._

* * *

He awoke with Franziska behind him and pressed obscenely close to him. His pajamas were still on, but she'd shoved his shirts up and had her hand on his belly. Miles blushed and tried to twist out of her grasp. His arms and hands stung from several cuts roughly bandaged. Miles groaned.

"Hmmm," Franziska said staring up at him in a way that made him feel slimy.

He stood and pulled away from her.

"Miles," Franziska said and she sat up, "Are you okay?"

He looked at her. He didn't know what to say. His eyes roved once around the room before going back to his sister, "I'm fine."

He dropped down beside the bed and began doing push ups on the floor. Franziska slid off of the bed and stepped on his back.

"Don't, you'll start to bleed again," she said her voice soggy with concern. Miles dropped down on his belly and lay there. He wanted to be anybody but Miles Edgeworth right now.

"Get up, little brother," she said.

He hesitated and then stood up slowly, his eyes stung. He wanted to roll up in his sheets and cry. But she was there.

Franziska put her arms around his waist and squeezed him, "You're perfect Miles, you can skip a day."

"There's no such thing," he said in a barely audible croak. But he returned the affection, wrapping one arm around her thin shoulders.

"I have to walk Pess," he said, "right after I brush my teeth."

"Miles," her voice raised in protest.

"You can come with me," he said, "Maybe we'll get brunch. What time do you have to be at the airport?"

"Four," she said, "My flight takes off at six-thirty three tonight."

"I can't make up for yesterday," he said—trying not to choke on his words, "But we can take the next several hours and try our best."

"You won't go to work at all today?"

Miles wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to walk into that office again, "I won't."

"Pinkie swear?" Franziska said holding up her hand and extending her little finger.

"That's not a binding agreement," Miles said—not to mention his hands were too cut up for that to be comfortable. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead and turned to enter the bathroom. He paused in dismay just inside the bathroom door when she tried to follow him in. He turned to glare at her.

"Franziska…"

"What? I just want to make sure you…"

Miles frowned, "Nothing's wrong. I'll see you in a few minutes."

She looked up at him with a grating amount of concern and hesitated before walking out of his room. You brought this on yourself, Miles Edgeworth…

It was early still when they got out, but most people had already headed to work and the streets were relatively deserted. Franziska held Pess' leash, so he didn't have to cause himself any more pain.

It was comforting, walking with his little sister—she'd ever been a joy, a distraction—and this was more like the way it used to be. Before she grew up; before… Before everything…

"Brüderchen," she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and looked up at him, "What are you thinking about?"

He swallowed—his throat hurt. He felt a flash of that panic. But he managed a sigh and smiled at Franziska, "I was thinking 'how much I'd missed you'. Little Franzy Fran."

She pulled away from him and punched him in the arm. She waved the end of Pess' leash at him, "Go dog! Attack!"

"Are you hungry?" Miles said.

"Yes."

"There's a bakery around the corner—"

"That sounds nice," Franziska said.

When they arrived Miles opened the door for her, "I'm going to run across the street and get some water for Pess."

"Miles is this some kind of trick—"

"No," he said, "I'm going to be right there—see? You can watch me if you want or you can look at the counter and decide what you want."

She gave him a worried look as he left and jogged across the street with Pess at his heel. Before he went into the convenience store he glanced at her figure in the bakery window.

She'd settled at one of the bistro tables outside of the bakery, and he found her reading a newspaper drinking tea from a paper cup with a box of various Danish sitting in the center of the table.

"Well, you certainly like Danish," he quipped and set his water bottles on the table.

"I love Danish," Franziska said her tone flat and unconvincing. He looked at her quizzically and she picked up one of the pastries and took a large greedy bite out of it.

"Mmmm," she purred, "Mumpf hoom."

Miles opened one of the water bottles and knelt to offer it to Pess.

"Miles," Franziska said, "I told the woman in the store that you were going to pay. You'd better get in there before I get arrested."

He was giving Pess a second water bottle, "Okay."

"Is that really your sister, Miles?" the clerk asked. Miles nodded and turned to watch her through the window—Franziska was feeding Danish to Pess.

"She's very lovely," the woman continued, "But you two look nothing alike—I never would have guessed."

Miles shrugged and took his tea and his change, "We can't all be lucky, right?"

"Franziska, please don't feed her those," Miles said and sat across from her, "She'll get sick."

"But she likes it," Franziska said, "Besides, you feed her everything."

Miles grabbed a pastry from the box and bit into it.

"Miles, that's the one I was feeding to Pess."

He paused for a moment looking dismayed and then continued to eat it.

"Gross," she said.

In spite of his slobbered-on Danish, Miles was starting to find the experience very pleasant. The weather was cooler; there were birds and things making noise. Franziska was getting along with his dog. Why couldn't it have been like this for the entire visit? He was beginning to wish she wouldn't leave.

Miles put down his paper cup and sat up, startling both Pess and Franziska. He cleared his throat. And dug inside the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a plain white box with a ribbon.

Franziska's face lit up.

"So," Miles began, "I know we've had some trouble recently with that riding crop. I wanted to tell you, that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did."

He held the box out to her and she reached for it with the kind of avarice only Franziska could possess and still look cute, "Miles! You shouldn't have."

Miles scooted his chair back surreptitiously while she undid the ribbon excitedly. Franziska's excitement cooled abruptly when she stared into the gift box. Miles had to lean forward to grab another pastry;. he was smiling as he leaned back in his seat.

"Miles," Franziska said angrily, "This is a fly swatter…"

He grinned, "It's pink. Don't you like—"

She jumped up and swung it at him—WAP! WAP! WAP! That was so much more tolerable than the riding crop. She stopped and sat holding it in her hands.

"It's cute, I guess," she said with heavy disappointment.

Miles had his mouth full but he held up his hand to get her attention and then pulled a small velvet box from within his coat. She grinned again.

The chain was simple, braided silver of a very fine gauge, with an heirloom pendant. A white horse head silhouetted against a base of lapis lazuli. He watched her study it—Maddy had picked it out for him to give her last year—but he didn't have to mention that. Franziska turned it in her hands—her silence was making him nervous.

"I love it," she said, "Oh Miles it's so lovely. Come, I want to wear it now."

He moved so their chairs were closer together and she held the box up to him. He frowned when he saw the bandages on his fingers. Franziska turned to see why he was stalling. She made an impatient noise and took it out of the box. She held the chain and pendant up to her neck and he caught the ends before they fell. She used one hand to lift her hair and hold it up. It hurt—a lot—but he managed to get the clasp open long enough to hook both ends of the chain together. He kept his fingers there on the back of her delicate neck and blanked out. His breath caught in his throat. Involuntarily, his thumb began to trace circles around the spinous process—the last cervical vertebrae—where it stood out at the bend of her neck. She let her hair fall and turned slowly to look at him.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied. Miles closed his eyes; he could feel the weight of her as she leaned forward to—

Miles jumped when his phone rang. He looked at the phone and then at Franziska, she was glaring daggers at him.

"It's not work," he said by way of explanation and put the phone to his ear, "Edgeworth."

"That doesn't make it any better!" She shouted at him. Pess barked at the rise in commotion. Miles had to leave the two of them.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

* * *

_What the fuck just happened? Miles blinked and looked around the small bathroom—somehow he'd managed to squeeze himself into the tight space between the toilet and the wall. The room was filled with a loud bellows sound. He could hear the Police Chief laughing on the other side of the door._

_ "Little Worthy," Gant said and banged on the door._

_ The bellows stopped suddenly and Miles realized that the sound was his own ragged breathing. He closed his eyes and pressed himself hard against the wall—hard enough for his shoulder blades and part of his spine to reply with a few shots of pain—but he didn't let up. Even in his cramped hiding place, he managed to begin his assessment of the situation:_

_One—Chief Gant and Chief Skye were searching his office for something…_

_Two—Chief Gant just tried to kill him… Did he? Miles was certainly alive—was this simply a threat? A scare tactic?_

_Three—He'd been unconscious—but not more than a couple of minutes… What did Gant do to him? His belt was undone, but he was still dressed…_

_Four—this is gross… I feel gross._

_ "Edgeworth!" Gant banged on the door again, "You can make this hard or you can make this easy. I prefer easy. I want you to consider this afternoon when your friends ask for assistance."_

_ Miles coughed—and he couldn't stop himself from coughing. The coughing hurt his throat so bad. He coughed so hard he knocked his head on the bottom of the toilet._

_ He heard Gant's booming laughter from the other side of the door. It started to fade. The door to his office slammed. Did it? Or was Gant still laughing manically on the other side of the door? Is he going to come in?_

_ His breath came in short rasping gasps—relax Miles, try and control your breathing. Oh God! He lay there trying to listen to the room outside the bathroom door despite his own choking gasps and the sound of his heart pounding in his ears._

_ The phone rang—his phone. Miles wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there but when he slid out of his hiding place his body ached with the cold stiffness of sitting in too awkward a position for too long. There was a spot of blood on the floor where his head had been some of it tracing the seam where the toilet had been sealed to the floor. Miles' hand automatically flew to the crown of his head—nothing. But he became aware of the weight of something sticky on his face. Blood. A nosebleed—he must have fallen asleep lying down there._

_ His head was starting to pound, but he got to his feet and tried to get his bearings. He moved over to the sink, automatically splashing water on his face. His trembling hands reached for his toothbrush—good. Something good. Something normal. He looked up and met those gray eyes in the mirror._

_ A coward and a fool… The face—those eyes—glared at him hatefully. Miles spat and rinsed his mouth before running a soapy hand tinged pink with the blood he was trying to clean away over the mirror to distort his reflection. What did you do this time, Miles Edgeworth?_

_ When Miles was finished, he sat on the closed toilet and slumped wearily with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers rubbing at his temples as the tightness and pain increased. He sat there for a while—a minute, or ten—before the cold and his own trembling forced him to exit the bathroom._

_ "Miles," he startled and nearly fell against the bathroom door. After a moment to steady himself he glared at her—he didn't know what to say, "Are you okay?"_

_ Miles didn't answer, but he looked around the office warily before moving toward the divan to sit down._

_ "Are you hurt?" She seemed cautious now—and scared._

_ "I'm fine," his voice came out rough, broken. He swallowed and felt the subtle pain in his throat—like pressing a bruise._

_ She had apparently decided to put all of his case files back on the shelves—like that was enough to change the situation. He just stared at her—all of this was so very strange._

_She knelt to lift the last several binders and placed them on the edge of his desk in order to slide them one at a time into the shelf. She paused when she was done and then picked something small up from his desk and approached him directly. Miles didn't move—couldn't move._

_ She held his phone out to him and he hesitated before taking it. He stared at the phone in his hand, thoughts rushing too fast for him to make any comment._

_ "I'm sorry, Miles," she certainly didn't sound sorry, "I was trying to prevent—"_

_ "What were you looking for?"_

_ "Uh…" she was startled by his directness, "We wanted your case files for SL-9."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "It was a high profile case, we just want to keep it secure."_

_ Miles looked past her and glared at the shelves, the desk, and the office—there was a little blue pawn on the floor._

_ "Don't worry about it Chief, I've already taken care of SL-9," he said, and managed a small smirk._

_ Even she had a hard time hiding her thoughts on that. Maybe Goodman wasn't as paranoid as he thought._

_ "Please leave my office," Miles said and he stood to walk toward his desk and sat heavily in his chair._

_ "What do you mean you've taken care of it?"_

_ "Please leave my office," he repeated._

* * *

She screamed at him all the way home—he almost called Wellington to come pick her up. But he had to be sure of it first, no sense in getting her upset over nothing. They'd flown him here to a hospital—but it was too late by the time they landed. It was a suicide, they said, based on the note he left for Miles Edgeworth.

Franziska didn't need to see this, Miles told himself as he made his way toward the hospital. A detective met him at the lobby and another hospital worker escorted the two of them toward the morgue. She didn't need to see this.

"The guards found him earlier this morning," the detective—one Miles didn't recognize—told him as they walked, "he just hanged himself—kneeling on the floor of his cell."

Miles nodded—he'd done this before right? Autopsy reports and examinations of a victim—why was this so much more frightening?

"Anyway, it's pretty cut and dry—this was a suicide," the detective said nonchalant.

Miles felt his apprehension rise when they entered the morgue, their steps echoing on the cold metal floor as they walked toward the back where three gurneys still had sheet wrapped bodies lying on them. The coroner's assistant wheeled one forward and unceremoniously flipped the sheet over revealing Manfred Von Karma's corpse.

Miles stared. The man was barely recognizable—his face red, congested; tongue protruding, white and dried up—yep definitely him. Miles swallowed—the dull pain in his throat reminding him of his own brush with that kind of death. "Yes, that's him."

"Great!" the detective said slapping Miles on the shoulder.

Miles followed the detective to his precinct to give a statement so they could finish some paperwork and then he went immediately home.

"Miles!" Franziska said, "What happened?"

He hesitated and then entered the flat—he didn't need to do this out in the corridor where everyone could hear.

"Franziska, please sit down," Miles said—surprisingly, she complied with no protest, "Your father is dead."

"What?" she said looking at him incredulously.

"He-well, he d-died this morning," Miles said, "I'm sorry Franziska."

"My Papa…" she said.

"Uh… I'm going to cancel your flight—and I'll get a hold of Heidi."

"…he's dead…?"

"This is going to be very complicated," Miles said, "So I need you to—"

She burst into tears. Miles stared at her for a moment and joined her on the divan, he didn't have any words of comfort—so he said nothing. But he wrapped his arms around her and held her. Suddenly it was little sister again, and all he wanted was for her to stop crying.

He held her until her crying started to dissipate, then beckoned Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Kucharka to put her to bed. He still had a lot to take care of. Franziska's flights were cancelled indefinitely—but the airline refused to refund on such short notice. Miles would have to book new flights for her. But he could worry about that later. The whole family was abroad. He needed to call everyone. But he didn't know all of them. He picked up the phone and dialed. This was probably the most gut wrenching phone call he'd ever made.

"Allo!"

"Heidi? It's Miles."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading!**_

_Flashbacks—both from the previous day—filling in some of the gaps._

_Von Karma is dead. Ding! Dong!_


	36. Vultures

**Chapter 36**

**Vultures**

_It had been a whirlwind summer—hotels and jet lag—halls of learning—courts of law—and always a precedent. Miles was tired—they'd never travelled for quite so long; almost three months. It might be the kind of summer one tucks away in their journals or their deepest memories. The kind one recalls decades later in stories around a fire, or at a gathering._

_ But not when your travelling companion is an angry and crotchety old man. Miles had never really seen Mister Von Karma from this perspective, his irritability, his social lack and his flaws. People didn't like him. Many of them did things to get him to be quiet or leave._

_ They spent their days at universities or courthouses. There were books, trials, and debates and discussions to be had. This was the first time Miles had spoken up in a discussion—this one a discourse on the International Criminal Court and certain states declination to become states parties to the statutes of the court—and made an impression on the dusty old legislators and judges in attendance. Mister Von Karma had grown angry with him—probably because they had differing opinions on the Lotus Principle and rights of one nation to judge the actions of citizens of another—because he'd dared to speak his opinion._

_ Mister Von Karma should have been happy with Miles, right? After all, what had he been groomed for if not to learn and expound the principles of all aspects of law—to uncover truth and contribute to the triumph of justice? Maybe he was still too young and idealistic to understand._

_ Nights were in a way the most terrible—Miles had grown used to the short hops, three days here; a week there; overnight up north—but this was nearly three full months. He was always torn those nights that summer. He was sixteen, after all. Mister Von Karma expected him to study at night and go to bed early so he could wake up early. Though only a week or two into the trip, Miles learned that Mister Von Karma didn't wake up so early._

_ They started in Munich so Miles could attend summer studies there for the first several weeks. He shared a flat with Mister Von Karma—but they saw little of each other while Miles was in class and Mister Von Karma seemed to be very occupied in the city._

_ He'd never really been allowed very much autonomy—not since he left the International School—and he was much younger than most of the others in the program. Aside from what he was learning in school, there was very little stimulation or socialization. Miles was quite accustomed to that and had no complaints for the first week or two._

_ Then he met Sofie. Sofie was a freshman at LMU, eighteen years old with honey-blonde hair and a wide disarming smile that accompanied the kind of eyes one could dive into and drown in. He accidentally dropped a book on her. She'd called him a few names, and Miles was never the same after that._

_ Despite his reservations, Miles took advantage of Mister Von Karma's absences to see Sofie. It was his first time exploring the very idea of independence._

_ Miles was very shy at first—he been conditioned to avoid this kind of contact with the rest of the world. At sixteen he'd been cursed with a thin, lank build—the kind that only seemed to attract fat mothers and old women who always wanted to give him cookies. But somehow he'd managed to befriend Sofie._

_ The month spent in Munich passed too quickly. They'd moved on to three other locations before Mister Von Karma began to notice Miles' subtle shift in mood. The yearning and the bittersweet pain of young love—and he asked Miles directly. Miles would never lie to Mister Von Karma._

_ The rest of the trip was shrouded in a dark curtain of barely disguised hatred or jealousy or something. So when Miles spent his nights alone in whatever hotel they'd landed in, pining after the first girl who ever thought he was good enough to kiss, while studying some meandering treatise on international law or the latest interpretation of constitutional rights in Sheng Fa, Mister Von Karma was drowning some simmering hatred or jealousy or something in the hotel bar with whatever fellow traveler he'd met._

_ But monotonous nights and overzealous studying didn't make that summer traumatic. Miles had learned to be very good at pushing away the things that made him upset or uncomfortable. Even the nightmares he still endured almost every night, were but a private burden for him and him alone._

_ He never really remembered if they were in Belgium or France—fast on their way home. The hotel they were staying in was an historic one and there were cobbles in the streets and though the lamps were electric, they were made to look like real gas lamps. They'd been there for a day or two—Miles remembered sitting in on a criminal trial in one of the area's small local courts. He remembered vividly too that Mister Von Karma was angry with him, but he couldn't remember what for._

_ The old man had entered his room for a moment in the evening, to let him know that he would be downstairs, and Miles had been left to the company of his books. After several hours, the phone in his room rang and an attendant from the hotel told him in French that he could barely understand that he needed to come downstairs and collect his father._

_ Miles was already troubled before he'd arrived. Mister Von Karma was sitting on a bench in the hotel lobby—having been placed there to end some altercation that had occurred. Miles could read that sad story easily by the sound of laughter coming from the bar and the purpling bruise on his mentor's cheek. His hair and his clothes were roughed up._

_ Miles didn't speak to him only offered his thin shoulder and an arm. He struggled a bit to pull the man into a standing position and they made their way slowly and awkwardly toward their rooms._

_ While they walked Mister Von Karma talked about Silke. His Silke who was perfect in every way. Silke was Adelheid's mother, and she would've been the mother of his son if she hadn't been murdered for the handful of Marks she had in her purse. Miles remembered feeling like a voyeur while the story was told to him. That wasn't something he should be privy to. It wasn't something he wanted to be privy to._

_ Once inside his hotel room, Mister Von Karma wouldn't let Miles leave. He took Miles' arm and held fast—and Miles was frightened because the man was drunk and barely coherent._

_ He yanked at him until Miles fell over and dragged him into a confining embrace. His breath stank and he smelled like sweat. Miles struggled to pull away from him._

_ "You are mine," Mister Von Karma said, "Mine!"_

_ Miles struggled harder against those cloistering arms. The harder he fought the more tightly Mister Von Karma held him. Miles was at least as tall as the old man but he was still a boy, and all of his angles and bones were no match for the strength of a grown man. Mister Von Karma managed to turn himself over, crushing Miles underneath him and into the floor._

_ Miles found himself gripped in a cold panic, he stopped fighting and stared into Mister Von Karma's pale eyes. They were rimmed red and watering from exertion and drink. His breath, dank and putrid and amplified with the vapor of liquor puffed into Miles' face—adding to his claustrophobia and fear. _

_ Mister Von Karma awkwardly lifted himself into a sitting position, never loosening his hold on Miles. In his panic, Miles' breath started to come in short rapid gasps. Mister Von Karma sat there, cradling Miles possessively like a child with a doll. He stared into Miles' face—his pale eyes, watery and bloodshot, roving hungrily—studying it like some treasure he'd only just discovered._

_ "So perfect," Mister Von Karma mumbled, spittle flecked onto Miles' face. He brought up one of his hands and ran his thick fingers over Miles' cheek._

_ "So perfect," he said again brought up Miles' shoulders so he could plant a wet stubble-roughened kiss on Miles' smooth forehead._

_ "My boy," Mister Von Karma sobbed into Miles' shoulder, "You mustn't do those things. Mustn't meddle with whores and liars—you should be good. You should be perfect."_

* * *

Miles sat in his car in the garage with his head on the steering wheel. At least it was quiet in here. He checked his watch and then lay his head back down.

Manfred Von Karma was dead. So dead. So completely and irrevocably dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead.

So what the fuck was the big deal? Let's bury him already and be done with it.

Miles picked up his head and sighed at the windshield. Nothing could ever be simple in this life. Not even death, apparently.

Slowly he checked that the key was in the ignition and then started the car, letting her rumble aloud before shifting back down to roll out of the garage. He took the most round about way he could manage in the timeframe he had and parked in the arrivals exit at the airport. The attendant from last time waved at him and gave a thumbs up—he must've recognized the car.

"Twenty minutes," Miles said.

"Take your time, buddy," the guy said with a wink.

Miles entered the airport and headed toward the baggage claim.

"Miles!" Heidi was waving at him while dragging a battered wheeled duffel.

He smiled and met her halfway and she threw her arms around him squeezing him tight.

"Welcome," Miles said.

"My goodness, Miles," she said, "You get more handsome every time I see you."

He blushed slightly and took her bag from her, "So when are you going to leave that Eddie guy and marry me?"

She only gave him a laugh in reply. He paused outside the exit to tip the attendant and opened the trunk of his car. He eyed the bag carefully turning his head to gauge the angle he should turn it—it took a little shoving but he got it in there.

He opened her door for her and then got into the driver's seat, he paused to look at her.

"I wish you were visiting under better circumstances," he said, "I have missed you."

"Don't worry about me Miles," she said, "There are so many other things to worry about right now."

Miles nodded emphatically and started the car.

"This is fancy, Miles," she said, "When did you become such a hot shot?"

"This is the car I told you about," Miles said shifting to pull out of the arrivals area and connect back to the main road, "My Christmas present."

They drove silently for a while, Miles focused on the speedometer, as he a tendency to drive a little fast and he didn't want Heidi to think ill of him.

"Are you okay, Miles?"

He found himself speechless for a moment, then he glanced at her and nodded, "I'm fine."

"How is Franziska?"

"Better today than yesterday," Miles said, "She wants to go to the house, but I didn't want to leave her by herself."

"Where is she staying?"

"With me," Miles said, "She stayed with me for her entire visit."

"And both of you are still alive? Amazing."

Miles chuckled a little at that.

The short modicum of peace and quiet ended as soon as they pulled into the garage. Miles could feel the tension rising in his chest and shoulders. He opened Heidi's door and went to retrieve her bag. He carried it up near his shoulder and started toward the stairwell.

"Miles," Heidi said, and jerked her head toward the elevator.

"It's on the ninth floor," he said, "I'll see you up there."

"Come on Miles," she said, "You were doing so well the last time."

"That was like, ten years ago."

She motioned toward the gaping door of that death trap in reply. He walked toward it and hesitated before stepping inside. He dropped her bag on the floor and she took his hand.

"Miles!"

"WHAT?" He nearly jumped in fright, "What?"

"What happened to you?"

She was talking about the bandages on his hands and fingers—good thing he had long sleeves on.

"I uh… It was an accident," he said, "Let's just get this over with."

She took his hand and led him toward the console so he could push the number nine. Immediately he was fixated on the numbers—he started to tremble.

Heidi poked him in his side, "What's your favorite color?"

"Um, red."

"What's the square root of two thousand three hundred fifty-six?"

"Huh?"

"What is it?"

"Um… forty-eight point… five… three… eight… six… four—"

The elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open.

"Ding! We're here," Heidi said.

Miles staggered out of the elevator panting as if he'd run up the stairs. Heidi grabbed her bag and followed him into his flat.

"Mister Edgeworth. Misses Krause," Wellington greeted them at the door.

Heidi looked around in awe of his flat. Miles left her and went to get Franziska.

She was lying in her bed and staring off into space, "Franziska, love, I told you Heidi was coming."

She sat up and glared at him, "I wasn't asleep. I was thinking."

She was still dressed at least.

"Well, come and see your sister," Miles said.

"Are we going to Papa's house today?"

"Yes," Miles said, "Come on."

She slid out of bed and stood to walk out of the door, Miles swayed and sat on her bed. His hands were shaking.

"Miles?"

"I'm fine, Heidi is in the drawing room. I just need to sit for a minute."

Franziska hesitated, looking at him with concern, and then left the room. Miles cursed his bravado—he shouldn't have let Heidi do that to him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and put it over his nose and mouth. Fortunately, aside from a bit of shakiness, his reaction to the elevator hadn't been so severe. He managed to return to his adoptive sisters with his dignity in tact.

Mrs. Kucharka had made sandwiches for them, and set them out on the small table in the breakfast nook. Heidi and Franziska were holding each other and crying and patting shoulders and touching hair. It might have been fun to watch if the circumstances were different. Miles frowned guiltily and made his way to toward the breakfast nook. He was starving.

He'd just finished his second sandwich and was eyeing a third—wondering how much further he'd have to run to make up for it—when Heidi and Franziska entered.

"Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said icily, "Are you hiding in here and stuffing your fat face?"

"Yes," Miles said and picked up another sandwich.

"Miles you're such a fatty fat fool!"

Miles paused in his chewing and glared at her—his cheek bulging with sandwich.

"What are they?" Heidi said and went to the table. She picked up a sandwich and sat down beside Miles.

"Chicken and something," Miles said.

"du sollen etwas essen," Heidi said.

"No. I don't feel like it," Franziska said, "Miles how can you just sit there and eat?"

"I was hungry," he said, "so I sat down and picked up a sandwich."

"I hate you!" Franziska said, "You and your stupid fat face!"

Miles made a face at her and then wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"When you two are ready let me know," he got up and started toward his room, "I'll be brushing the teeth in my stupid fat face."

"Miles," Heidi said, "Are we all going to fit in your car?"

"No," Miles said, "I'll take you in the Town Car."

"How many cars does he have?" he heard Heidi ask Franziska.

The drive over wasn't as terrible as it could've been. Heidi sat up front next to him, since Franziska wanted to lie across the back seat. Miles started to wonder how much of her antics were truly grief and how much were just to get attention. She'd spent the first part of the drive calling him names, so he closed the screen to block her out—maybe she'd fall asleep.

"She's terrible to you, Miles," Heidi sounded surprised, " I had no idea."

Miles smiled, "She's upset. So she's lashing out—she uh… She doesn't have her riding crop. So I suppose she's decided her tongue was a reasonable substitute."

"What happened to that riding crop?"

"It… It broke," Miles said.

"Have you been back to the house at all since you moved out?"

"No."

"I hope it's not—"

"It isn't derelict," Miles said, "He had a caretaker. I'm pretty sure he was still living there until… Up until everything started."

"You know Diana is coming," Heidi said, "She's going to want to stay in the house."

Miles looked at her quizzically.

"Franziska's mom," Heidi said.

Miles thought about it for a moment and then made a face—yikes. He'd only met the woman once—he was eleven—and he'd done or said something (or not done or said something) and she'd nearly twisted his ear off. Miles' shoulders slumped.

"That Sabine woman is probably going to come too."

Miles frowned more deeply—he didn't look at Heidi.

"Sabine was his third wife," Heidi said.

Miles cocked his head slightly.

"He married my mom first," Heidi said, "Then Diana. Diana had Franziska and not a boy—plus Papa thought she was crazy. Then he married Sabine. She was angry that he wanted to adopt you. So he left her too."

Miles' brows went up.

"Papa always wanted a son."

Miles let out a sigh. After a few moments he caught himself clenching and unclenching his teeth—he hoped Heidi hadn't noticed.

He relaxed when she dozed off. This was already becoming too much for him to deal with.

* * *

_Miles had a dog since before he could remember. For the life of him, he couldn't remember his—or her name. That dog would follow him everywhere—he didn't remember, but Mommy and Daddy had pictures and they would show him and laugh and he would laugh too. Pictures of the dog sitting beside him as a baby both covered in spaghetti or something. The dog tugging at his diapers._

_The dog was black and white and gigantic. But then, he was very small, Daddy was certainly a lot bigger than the dog. Miles and Dog played in the yard sometimes, while Mommy was tending the garden. Miles couldn't remember Mommy's face. She was a being in soft cotton and floral patterns._

"_Miles stay here. Don't go too far."_

_He remembered her sound, just not her face. He remembered Dog's face. Dog had one white eye and one brown eye. Dog had whiskers and pink and black on its mouth. Dog's ears were big and straight but they bent down at the tips. Miles liked Dog's ears. Dog had a fluffy tail that was always moving—sometimes Daddy would say something to Dog and Dog would stare up at him turning its head and Miles would get smacked in the face by that tail._

_Miles remembered sitting on the floor with his crayons. The TV would be talking about news. Mommy did the dishes, or sometimes she was cooking. Dog would sit near him chewing its bones. Daddy would come home wearing a coat and hat. Mommy and Dog were as excited to see Daddy as he was._

_Dog was always with him—especially when he was outside. There were other kids in the neighborhood. Big kids. Mean kids. Mommy tried her best to keep those kids away—but Dog was even better at it. Miles never had to be scared when Dog was with him._

_Miles remembered being chased by one of those kids. He tried to run away but that kid was big and fast. Dog was there. Dog growled and Miles ran to Mommy._

_Mommy wouldn't let Dog inside that day. The police came with their flashing lights. Daddy came home too. Dog never came home after that._

* * *

Miles winced as the doctor dug into his arm. His body lifted from the table and if he wasn't strapped down he might've injured the other man.

"Hold still, we're almost done," his doctor said, "It's your own fault—if you hadn't been so careless."

He hissed again without so much movement when another piece of glass was pulled out. In a way, Miles was grateful to Wellington for this. He had avoided an all night stay in the ER and all of the questions associated with going to a major medical facility.

They'd come just in time, the doctor said. Wellington had done a commendable job with the bandages, but there was still a lot of glass in Miles' arms. That explained the heat and pain and the reddening of the skin around many of the cuts.

His doctor didn't ask too many questions after Miles had told him he'd broken a mirror he was helping carry. The doctor did make a joke about Miles diving into the broken glass after the mirror had broken—but nothing otherwise.

This was the earliest appointment he could get—another consequence of private physicians—but it worked out for the better. It allowed Miles to get away from everyone else and everything that went into dealing with the deceased. The whole thing made him want to jump into another mirror—or maybe through a window.

He went back to his flat after leaving the doctor's office. It was gloriously quiet. Miles sat on the floor in front of the closet in the entryway and reached out to receive Pess who'd come to greet him. He put his arms around the base of her neck—not caring that she was licking his hair and it was probably standing up. She sat quietly while he hugged her.

He leaned back and sighed. He rubbed his face—the new bandages were much less bulky and intrusive. He didn't want to leave that spot. His back against the cool wooden door; his legs stretched out against the cool wood floor. Pess licked his face again until he laughed. She lay her head on his lap and waved her large paws near his head as she offered her belly for scratching.

Miles scratched her belly and then hopped up on his hands and knees and looked at her. She met him in a playful stance, tail up forelegs flat on the floor. She barked inquisitively. His phone fell out of his pocket and startled the both of them as it clattered on the floor. Both of them stared. Miles looked at her and frowned. He remembered why he'd come by the flat.

Miles grabbed his phone reluctantly and stood. He shoved it into his pocket. Pess was looking up at him. Miles swallowed and walked back toward the library to his desk. He kept it locked in a small safe underneath a book about celestial navigation that he'd been given as a gift and several portfolios housing the papers he'd written as a very young man on statutes and rights—all of the interests of a lifetime jurist.

He set the safe on his desk and stared at it while opening another drawer containing odds and ends and several keys. He picked out a pair of keys on a thin loop and inserted one into the lock. There were several documents in the safe. His own birth certificate, several documents relating to the Trust as well as funds he'd inherited. Underneath all of that was the heavy packet of papers folded into a piece of cardstock made to look like leather. The Last Will and Testament of Manfred Von Karma.

Miles never questioned it when Mister Von Karma handed it to him and told him to keep it safe. He'd dropped it immediately into the safe and never bothered to examine it. Miles found a document case in the office and stuck the will in there. The vultures, were descending—he'd better hurry back.

The Von Karma Estate here was not as imposing or medieval as the estate in Germany—not by any stretch. Not that it wasn't a grandiose nod to late modern architects like Frank Lloyd Wright or Mies. Miles thought it was ugly.

The Von Karma home broke up the horizon with its flat angled roof and lines of columns. It was walled in white stucco and glass with sand-blown patterns. The gates were automated and the grounds sprawling. It was the kind of building that made one feel like they'd been transported to another time—a time without the worries of the world today.

The interior was less garish—it lent its design much more to the classic European stylings found in the Estate in Germany. As if the old man was attracting new and spunky while hiding a cold and archaic secret inside.

Miles parked the black Lincoln in the drive inside the gate. There used to be an attendant that would take your keys and bring the car to the garage. Excessive to the point of parody. Miles locked the car and walked inside.

A lot of the interior furniture had been covered with white canvas and the majority of the rooms were no longer used. As Miles walked, hands in pockets, gazing around the abandoned home, he ran into a man standing in the middle of one of the unused drawing rooms staring open mouthed at a massive blown glass chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling in a ballroom that had never held a ball.

"Good afternoon," Miles said, sliding his right hand out of its pocket to catch the document case he was holding between his wrist and hip, "Can I help you?"

The man startled with an audible gasp and spun to face Miles, "Eh, eh yes. You are—? You look so young, how old are you?"

Miles gave him a dark look, "I'm twenty-four—almost twenty-five."

"Ah," Vermeulen said, " 'almost'—that's cute. Is your father here?"

Miles' brow furrowed, "Are _you_ supposed to be in here?"

"Ah," the man said, "I am James Vermeulen, executor for the Von Karma estate."

"You've come early," Miles said, "We haven't even buried him yet."

"I was contacted by ah," he pulled out a business card and slid on a pair of glasses with thick lenses and squinted, "ah Misses Diana Von Karma."

Miles smiled—suddenly amused, "I see. I'm Miles Edgeworth—I have a copy of his most current will—I'm sure you wouldn't want to misrepresent Mister Von Karma's last wishes."

Miles handed the document to the squirrely little man. Mister Vermeulen looked a little surprised to learn that Mister Von Karma had updated his will, but he took it from Miles with a polite nod. Miles watched him as he bent down to put everything in order in his briefcase before straightening to look at Miles again.

"Well, Mister Edgeworth? Do you know where anybody might be in the house?"

"Yes," Miles said and led the little man deeper into the estate.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Mister Vermeulen said, "Usually—with men of his age—I get spouses or older children."

"Hmm," Miles said.

"When Manfred told me about you, he never said you were so young. He said you were a lawyer?"

Miles nodded.

Before they even entered the corridor where the office was located, they could hear the shouting. Miles looked at the little man—Mister Vermeulen looked frightened.

"Do you want to?" Miles said.

"No. Do you?"

"One of us has to."

"Could you? Please? You're younger and stronger," Vermeulen said.

Miles glared at him and walked toward the door and banged on it with the heel of his hand.

Silence. Miles hesitated and then opened the door.

"Cousin Hansi?"

"No," Franziska spat.

"Diana," Heidi said, "you remember Miles Edgeworth?"

"Who?"

Diana glared at him—she had sharp features on her narrow face and might have been beautiful had she not pulled out all of her eyebrows and spent her days sneering at everyone—and raised one of her painted on eyebrows.

Everyone stared around the room, Miles' frown deepened.

"Er," Mister Vermeulen piped up, "Misses Von Karma, I don't know if you remember me—but we spoke on the phone this morning."

"The Exchequer, no?" Diana said looking at the little man dismissively, and then turned to Miles, "And you. The last time I saw you, you still had snot dripping from your nose and called everybody Pappi. I always saw you sticking your fat little face into everyone's business. Now here you are, begging for yours like a dog at the table."

Miles stared at her—confused.

"Mama," Franziska said, "This is Miles! Miles, not Hans."

Diana's glare softened, "Well—he's rather thin for Hansi… But you don't belong here either! Franziska, who is this again?"

"Papa adopted him when his father died."

"Oh… _That_ one..."

Miles raised an eyebrow at them and turned to leave. Heidi followed him.

"Heidi, we're not finished discussing—"

"Yes we are, Diana!"

Miles couldn't recall ever seeing her angry. She shoved him forward into the corridor and closed the door.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," Heidi said.

"I brought the will."

"Good."

"How is everything—apart from that woman… in there?"

"It's good," Heidi said, "Franziska had her old room still waiting—so she's comfortable. Diana—well… She refuses to leave the house, so she's in one of the south guest rooms. Sabine should be arriving tomorrow…"

"Sabine?"

"She was his little… I told you about her… The one he married after Diana? They actually seemed pretty happy."

Miles only nodded—not really wanting to explore that facet of his mentor.

"She left because she didn't want him to adopt you…" Heidi looked pointedly at him.

Miles shook his head and shrugged, "I really don't care."

"Diana and I made arrangements with one of the priests at St. Georges…"

"I found a funeral home—they're doing their thing..."

"Good."

"They'll do all that—you know with the flowers and all of that…"

"Thank goodness."

"Em… I was… Are you going to bring him back to Germany? Any of you?"

"I haven't even thought about that… I'll talk to Diana about it… Miles, I'm sorry you've had to do all of the running around for this. I don't know how we could have managed without you."

"I'm the only one local to the area."

"Still, you've been invaluable. The calm little center of this storm…"

Miles looked away from her, feeling self-conscious. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, "I have to be back at work tomorrow—" he said.

Heidi blinked at him, "Miles, we need you here. Can't you—"

"I've been away much too long as it is," he said.

"But what about—" Heidi was staring up at him; lost, upset. Miles frowned and something in the back of his mind marveled at how small she seemed. She'd always been larger than life. She sobbed suddenly and pressed her face into his arm—as she couldn't quite reach his shoulder.

Somewhere inside his carefully constructed defense, he felt a quiver of panic.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading!**_

_First flashback—well it's a narrative reminiscence—Miles is 16._

_Second Miles is 4 or 5… yeah… I went there…_

_Heidi helps Miles ride the elevator—Miles is a genius hurr hurr…_

_Chicken something is probably chicken salad._

_Miles is probably the kind of dude that has an office he goes to work in and an office he goes home to._


	37. In Retentis

**Chapter 37**

**In Retentis**

_Phoenix stared at the clock and frowned. Everyone else had gone home half an hour ago. Outside the classroom window, thunder rumbled at a distance. He looked back at the whiteboard._

_ "I will not put gum in other people's hair," was written across the top in the teacher's tidy hand. Looking back toward the page of notebook paper in his desk made him frown._

_ He'd written the sentence twice in full. Then he had "I" written down one side of the page forty-eight times. The first fifteen "I"s had "will not" written along side. Phoenix sighed—mom was going to be pissed at him._

_ It wasn't even his fault. He didn't even chew gum. Phoenix would never do that to Jilly Baxter. He squeezed his Spiderman pencil in his fist. Larry was always getting him in trouble. This time sucked even worse because Larry didn't get in trouble at all. And Jilly Baxter would hate Phoenix forever._

_ Phoenix sighed and the thunder rumbled outside again. He put his pencil to the paper and copied his lines._

_ When the teacher came to check on him, he'd completed the statement sixteen times. The rain began to fall outside. Not a gradual sprinkle but a sudden and heavy downpour. Phoenix frowned at the window while the teacher lectured him about respecting other students' personal space and the sheer cruelty of getting gum in a girl's hair._

_ He dragged his feet through the empty hallway toward the door. He was clutching at the straps of his backpack where they came around his shoulders. The rain showed no signs of letting up. He paused at the glass doors at the front entrance and peered outside with a frown._

_ He could barely see through the rain. Even the glass was starting to fog up. Mom would be home soon—maybe she was home already. Would she come here, if she couldn't find him? She might. He could just stay by the door and wait for Mom or for the rain to stop. Either way he wasn't going out in that._

_ A sudden movement and a flash of color caught his eye. Phoenix pressed his face to the glass. There was a kid in the rain. What if he drowned? Mom always said things about 'catching your death' and stuff when the weather was bad. What the heck was wrong with that kid?_

_ Phoenix pushed open the door and waved, "HEY! HEY KID!"_

_ The kid—who was standing at the curb where parents and busses usually claimed or dropped off other kids—turned and looked toward him. Phoenix still couldn't see who it was. "HEY!"_

_ The kid ran toward him and even before the kid was close enough to enter the shelter of the entrance, Phoenix recognized that Miles kid._

_ "Nick! What are you doing at school so late?" Miles said. He looked like he'd just been pulled from a lake or a pool. He was shivering and gasping and he sniffed uncontrollably._

_ "I had detention," Phoenix said, "How come you were standing out there in the rain?"_

_ Miles was still gasping and sniffing, "I was waiting for my dad to pick me up."_

_ Phoenix stared at him and frowned when he realized that Miles had been—was still crying. Phoenix didn't know what to say._

_ "He never comes late," Miles sobbed, "Something bad… must… have…"_

_ "Um," Phoenix said looking at that Miles kid with a frown, "He's fine. Don't cry."_

_ "He never comes late," Miles repeated, and his sobbing grew more intense._

_ Phoenix could only stare at the other boy and frown. Miles had been at the school for a while—but he was still the new kid. He was weird and nerdy. But Miles defended him against the other kids when they did the class trial. They weren't really friends, but Phoenix talked to him sometimes. He'd invited Miles to join their biker gang, but Miles never came around. Phoenix reached out and grabbed one of Miles' arms and shook him._

_ "Hey," Phoenix said, "don't cry, okay?"_

_ "B-but," Miles blubbered, his shivering seemed to grow more intense._

_ "Do you want to come to my house?"_

_ Miles only stared at him—Miles' eyes were as gray as the storm outside, though the whites were slightly pink from his crying._

_ "I don't live very far," Phoenix said, "We could go to my house and my mom can drive you to your house."_

_ "I'm not allowed," Miles said apprehensively._

_ "Well, it's better than standing out there in the rain. My Mom says you can get sick if you stay out in the rain."_

_ Miles gaze moved toward the still deserted curb and then returned to Phoenix._

_ "Come on. If we run we won't get as wet," Phoenix grabbed Miles' by the wrist and the two of them plunged back into the deluge. They ran across the street to the street light and then turned down Phoenix's street. Phoenix lost his hold on Miles' wrist and Miles shouted something at him. His voice was lost in their running steps, the pounding of the rain._

_ "Come on!" Phoenix said, "We're almost there!"_

_ They ran into Mom on the sidewalk. She was wearing one of those things that look like a plastic bag and carrying a large umbrella with Minnie Mouse on it._

_ "Nick!" She screamed and grabbed him into a hug with her free arm, "Nick I was worried sick! Where were you?"_

_ "Mom!" Phoenix said panting and gasping from his run, "This is my friend Miles and he was waiting for his dad but his dad never came and he was all by himself in the rain so I told him that he could come home with me and you could help him!"_

_ Miles stood back from them shivering in the rain his right hand clutched around his left elbow and his shoulders hunched against the downpour. Phoenix frowned at him._

_ "Come here," Mom said and tugged his wet jacket so he would stand under the umbrella. It wasn't very much further to the house but they had to walk slow and awkwardly because of the shared umbrella. Phoenix could still hear Miles sniffing beside him as they walked and he put an arm over the other boy's shoulder, "It's okay."_

* * *

Phoenix just glared at him—he wasn't paying attention at all. Edgeworth was leaning back in his seat one hand resting on his thigh and the other arm crooked against the windowsill so that his hand rested near his temple. He was staring out of the window thoughtfully and obviously ignoring everything Phoenix had just said.

Phoenix crossed his arms—he was starting to wonder why he'd suggested this. He'd known Edgeworth was like this, right? When he thought about Edgeworth, the man always seemed far less laconic...

Edgeworth had arrived looking a bit harried after spending most of the day doing whatever prosecutors do when they weren't in court. He was still wearing that ruffly neck thing with a black vest and white shirt. Conversation had been awkward and curt—and now one-sided.

Phoenix frowned at him. There were two older women sitting at a table just over Edgeworth's shoulder. They'd just moved tables for what seemed like a way to get a better look at Edgeworth. That was weird. Phoenix wondered if he was sitting like that on purpose—just so he could squint a little out of the window and brood—like he was posing for a photo.

The natural light from outside highlighted his hair—even though the sun wasn't shining brightly. Edgeworth's eyes had a slightly green tinge from whatever was outside the window.

"I guess you just go to random places and sit around to try and look cool," Phoenix said. Edgeworth turned his head to glance at him for a moment before turning back to the window.

"I have banana feet…" Phoenix said.

"What?" Edgeworth said pulling away from the window and looking at him directly.

"Just checking to see if you're listening," Phoenix said, "I've been talking to myself for the last ten minutes."

"There is a man outside," Edgeworth said poking at the ice in his iced tea with a straw, "He's in whiteface and he keeps moving strangely and walking in front of people."

"He's a clown," Phoenix said, "or mime, I guess. Maya calls him Mellow Mike."

"Interesting…" Edgeworth said turning his head back toward the window.

"He just hangs around there trying to make people laugh—the tourists love him."

"Hmm," Edgeworth said suddenly losing interest.

"So…" Phoenix said.

Edgeworth absently brushed his hair back from his face and took a drink from his glass. Phoenix continued to stare at him rubbing lines into the condensation of his own glass.

"I heard Sheinheilig is finally going to trial—again," Phoenix said.

"Yes."

Phoenix made an exasperated hand gesture toward Edgeworth, but the other didn't seem to notice. Edgeworth pulled his straw out of his drink and started to twist and bend it. Phoenix crossed his arms and sighed loudly.

"Nice weather today," Phoenix said.

Edgeworth's eyes met his directly, the irises as stormy and gray as the sky outside, "It's supposed to rain tonight."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "But not until late tonight."

Edgeworth gave a small shrug and stared at the broken straw in his hands. He continued to twist it around his fingers.

The maddening conversation was interrupted by the waitress' arrival. Phoenix sighed and ran a hand through his spikes—he was relieved, but frustrated at the same time. He glared at Edgeworth while the prosecutor was asking the waitress a question about the soup. She smiled at him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was smiling and blushing a little at him—and he was only talking about bread bowls.

"Uh Miss?" Phoenix said when she started to walk away.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said but her apologetic glance flew toward Edgeworth.

Phoenix ordered his sandwich quickly, and when she left, he glared at Edgeworth.

"Hey," Phoenix said.

"Yes?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

Edgeworth hesitated and then said, "Nothing."

"Really?"

Edgeworth nodded.

Phoenix frowned.

"Why won't you let me be your friend…" Phoenix said with no small amount of irritability in his voice.

Edgeworth looked at him directly. He seemed confused, a little defensive and maybe a little hurt too. Phoenix almost let out a sigh of relief.

"I thought we were friends," Edgeworth said.

Phoenix frowned. He wanted to tell Edgeworth that he was too weird and that he should relax. He wanted to tell him that it was okay to talk. But he was afraid he'd scare him off again.

Edgeworth was staring out of the window again. Phoenix couldn't look at him anymore—it was making him crazy. He stared at his glass instead watching the bubbles in his soda disconnect from the sides of the glass and rise to the top and disappear. Edgeworth made a sharp intake of breath and stiffened suddenly in his seat—Phoenix startled.

"What—" Phoenix said.

"Could you please come sit beside me?" Edgeworth said.

Phoenix made a face at him, "Why?"

"So you can hide me…" Edgeworth said.

"From what?"

"Just help me!"

Phoenix got up from his seat and slid into the booth next to Edgeworth. Neither of them were very large men, but it was a cozy fit.

"This is weird," Phoenix grinned, "But I kind of like it."

Edgeworth gave him a shove that almost knocked him out of the booth.

"Hey! You asked me to—"

"I didn't ask you to be creepy!"

"Who are you trying to hide from?"

"My ex," Edgeworth said, "I never imagined she'd come to a place like this."

"An ex? When did you ever have a girlfriend?"

Edgeworth just scrunched up his shoulders and put his head down—trying to make himself small.

"You know," Phoenix said, "You're taller than me. Plus your hair is that weird gray color—there's no way—"

"My hair is not gray!" Edgeworth hissed, "She's not coming over here…?"

"Um," Phoenix said—he had no idea whom Edgeworth was talking about. He looked around the restaurant. There was a woman in oversized sunglasses wearing a cocktail dress, but she had a guy with her. There was a redheaded chick coming from the direction of the restroom—but she stopped at another table and sat. A cute, raven-haired girl was coming toward them from the direction of the main entrance…

"I have no idea what she looks like," Phoenix said.

Edgeworth glanced over just in time to see Glasses and her beau walking in their direction.

"The one with the stupid sunglasses…" Edgeworth scrunched further down into his seat.

"Her? You were dating a woman like that? How did you even-" Phoenix said, "I think they're coming toward us."

"Do something!"

"Like what?"

"Distract them!"

Phoenix glanced once more toward the woman—she'd been stopped by someone at another table—and frowned. She was definitely headed this way. Phoenix shoved Edgeworth up against the window and planted a hand on each of his cheeks and gave him a big sloppy kiss.

Edgeworth tensed up. Sunglasses turned in the other direction. Phoenix closed his eyes.

* * *

_Mister Von Karma moved along the shelves searching through bagged evidence and labeled envelopes while Miles followed behind him with a box._

_ "That's why you need to make a note of what you used and be very careful about double checking these labels—these idiots really have a hard time labeling things."_

_Miles nodded even though Mister Von Karma wasn't looking at him. It was hot down there and though he'd already removed his jacket, the blue and gold brocade waistcoat seemed very confining and heavy at the moment. Miles was starting to sweat a little._

_ "I really hate that about this district," Mister Von Karma continued, "They're constantly reviewing old cases over and over—what a waste of time! Take this 'evidence transferal, this 'cleaning day'. If we'd moved completed cases into the archive as soon as we they were done—we wouldn't be wasting so much time each year scrambling to get this done in a month."_

_ They continued silently for several minutes, Mister Von Karma reading from a long list of cases that were being pulled for cleaning day. Miles followed behind him in stoic silence, trying to ignore his own rising discomfort. His nose was starting to itch from the dust and he was thirsty now as well as hot._

_ "I've been meaning to ask you," Mister Von Karma said suddenly. Miles felt his gut start to knot with apprehension._

_ "Who is Phoenix Wright?" Mister Von Karma whipped around to face him suddenly._

_ Miles just stared, he hadn't heard that name in ten years._

_ Mister Von Karma turned his attention back to the shelves, "I asked you a question Edgeworth."_

_ "Yes sir," Miles said, "I don't really remember who he was, but I recognize the name."_

_ "And? Where do you know that name from?"_

_ "From when I was a boy. Before I left for Germany."_

_ "I see," Mister Von Karma said._

_"Nick!"_

_ Phoenix put the phone down and tried to look nonchalant, standing in the hallway in his shorts and a tee shirt._

_ "Hey, Nick!" Phoenix looked up to see Larry and some guy Larry had started hanging out with more frequently than he did with Phoenix. They were both grinning as they came down the hall._

_ "Hey, what are you doing right now?" Larry said._

_ "Nothing," Phoenix said._

_ "You should get dressed and come with us to the Ballyrama," Larry grinned._

_ "What's the Ballyrama?" Phoenix said._

_ "It's awesome," Larry said._

_ "It's an expo downtown," other guy cut in, "They open up for three days a year. It's like a way for new and up and coming artists and creative people to get together to share their ideas and celebrate creativity—and also get really drunk and see boobs."_

_ "A street party?" Phoenix said, "Downtown…? You mean downtown downtown?"_

_ "Yeah man," Larry said, "It's freaking awesome!"_

_ Phoenix glanced at the hall phone and then looked at the two of them, "Do either of you have a car?"_

_ "No," Larry said, "We'll take the bus. Come on Nick."_

_ "I um…" Phoenix said._

_ "There's music and dancing too," other guy said and he pulled out a creased postcard with an ad for Ballyrama. Phoenix took the card from other guy and squinted at it._

_ "Well if you don't want to go," Larry said, "Can I borrow a hundred bucks?"_

_ Phoenix looked at Larry, "What makes you think I have that kind of money?"_

_ "Come on Nick I know you—"_

_ "That's all I have to get me through the end of the month," Phoenix said, "I can't just—"_

_ "Fine," Larry said and grabbed the postcard back. "You can waste your life in your dorm room."_

_ Phoenix watched Larry and his friend walk three doors down to cajole Eric—or whatever his neighbor's name was—into going along with them. Phoenix frowned and picked up the phone again. He'd memorized the number by now, and he dialed it carefully._

_ "Who is it?"_

_ "Um, good afternoon," Phoenix said, "My name is Phoenix Wright. I'm trying to get a hold of Miles Edgeworth."_

_"Edgeworth doesn't want to talk to you," Mister Von Karma said into the phone. Miles looked up at the mention of his name, Mister Von Karma glared at him._

_ Miles went to the shelves to return a file he'd borrowed, and tried not to eavesdrop._

_ "He is a professional, now. He doesn't have time to deal with people like you."_

_ Miles' jaw tightened involuntarily._

_ "I don't have to know you—I know your type," Mister Von Karma said, "Now, all this has been very amusing Wright, but it's gone on too long. If you call here again I will press charges."_

_ Miles turned to leave Mister Von Karma's office._

_ "Good day!" Mister Von Karma said into the phone before slamming the receiver back onto its holder._

_ "Edgeworth!" Miles stopped just in front of the door and hesitated before turning around slowly to face Mister Von Karma._

_ "Sir?"_

_ "What are you working on right now?"_

_ "I was helping Prosecutor Marshall put together the case against Altair Iggo," Miles said, "I remembered a similar case you'd prosecuted, so I thought I'd look it over as a reference."_

_ "Hmm," Mister Von Karma said, "Are you helping him? Or does he have you doing his work for him?"_

_ Miles didn't answer but his gaze fell to the floor._

_ "Did you offer him your help?"_

_ "Well," Miles hesitated, "you see, Mister Von Karma, everyone is tied up with evidence transferal and Prosecutor Marshall was the only one who had a case going to trial this week. He said he'd let me assist. I didn't want to waste an opportunity to be in court."_

_ Mister Von Karma glared at him, "And you didn't think to ask me if this was alright?"_

_ Miles blinked, "Sir, I wasn't… I learned of this opportunity in passing. I thought I was being proactive."_

_ "Don't be flippant with me, Miles Edgeworth!"_

_ Miles swallowed, he didn't think he'd said anything flippant._

_ "Mister Von Karma," Miles said, "May I assist Mister Marshall in court tomorrow?"_

_ "Just go away Edgeworth, I'm tired of looking at you."_

_ Miles didn't have to be told twice._

_Phoenix stared at the receiver in his hand until the phone started beeping. He hung it up and dragged himself back to his room. Press charges?_

_ It frightened him. Never once had Phoenix considered that his persistence might be taken as harassment. He couldn't afford it if they pressed charges. He probably shouldn't call anymore…_

_ Phoenix frowned and sat at his desk and opened his computer—he had a paper to write anyway—why was he wasting time trying to contact someone who obviously didcares ant to be contacted. But then again, Phoenix mused, I got the secretary most of the time and Mister Creeptastic the other times… Maybe Edgeworth did want to hear from him. Maybe he just didn't know about the calls._

_ But… That guy in the papers. That Demon Prosecutor, that wasn't anyone he knew either. Phoenix shook his head mournfully and opened up the document he'd begun earlier._

_"Mister Von Karma," Miles said. His voice echoed in the massive dining hall. He was sitting at the massive table two seats down to the right of Mister Von Karma who was seated at the head of the table._

_ "What?" the old man snapped at him—angry at the interruption of his dinner._

_ Miles stared down at his own plate—he hadn't even touched his silverware._

_ "Sir, I just wanted to know why I'm not allowed to accept a telephone call from… from my friend…?"_

_ "Miles Edgeworth, how do you know that person is your friend?"_

_ "I knew him… When I was a boy."_

_ "What if he is an imposter?"_

_ "Sir, I just want to speak with him once."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "I just want to… I don't know anyone here, aside from the people we've worked with. I just want to have—"_

_ "Miles Edgeworth, are you so bored with your duties and responsibilities that you wish to seek out social engagements?"_

_ "No sir, I only—"_

_ "Or maybe you've got too much idle time. Perhaps I can find more for you to do?"_

_ Miles only responded with a slight nod. Mister Von Karma glared at him a moment longer and then returned to his dinner. Miles stared at the table and his plate with contemplation. He was upset but he didn't dare show it. He sat straight and perfectly still, but underneath the table he twisted his napkin in his hands._

_ Mister Von Karma dabbed his mouth with his napkin and paused to glare at Miles again._

_ "If you're just going to sit here like a fool just go away," Mister Von Karma said._

_ Miles stood up from the table and offered his mentor a slight bow before retreating to his room. He locked his door and went immediately to his desk. In a locked drawer he pulled out a book on celestial navigation that he'd been given as a gift. He opened it to reveal an envelope tucked into the pages._

_ Inside were forty-three pink slips of paper with the memo 'while you were out' printed at the top. Some of them were creased or slightly torn—as he'd dug them out of the trash. Miles kept them in chronological order. _

_ He picked up the first one; it read: For Miles Edgeworth, Mr. Phoenix Wright wishes you to return his call. _

_Second: To Edgeworth. From Wright. Your friend from school at Ivy. Please call._

_Third: Edgeworth call Mr. Wright._

_Sixth: Mr. Wright hopes you are well. Please call._

_Seventh: Mr. Wright wishes you happy birthday. He says call when ready._

_Ninth: Wright – hope you are well._

_ They were all like that, a simple greeting. A request for contact. Miles lined them all up and studied them._

* * *

Edgeworth found a bench in a shaded area around the corner and sat. He had pulled his jacket so that it was closed more tightly around him—like it might keep him safer.

"Why'd you have to hit me?" Phoenix said, angry. He was only trying to help—that little bit of PDA turned that woman right around. It was kind of funny too. Why was Edgeworth so upset about it?

"Edgeworth, I only did it to get that woman to go away—and it worked," Phoenix continued when Edgeworth kept silent.

"That was very embarrassing," Edgeworth said, "It would've been embarrassing if you'd been a woman. You made me look like an idiot in public."

"I think you're upset because you kind of liked it," Phoenix said and Edgeworth answered him with a murderous glare. Phoenix smiled at him—at least they were facing each other again.

"You're disgusting," Edgeworth said.

"Oh," Phoenix said, "I'm disgusting?"

"And uncouth."

"Uncouth, huh?"

"And rude, immodest, insensitive, stupid and naive and—and… And I don't like the way you act around me."

"What do you mean the way I—"

"You haven't stopped staring at me since we sat at that table, it's unsettling."

"What?" Phoenix said, "I wasn't stare—I was trying to have a civilized conversation with my friend. If you wanted to sit back to back and stare in opposite directions you should've said so."

"Wright it seems that we've both change—"

"You changed," Phoenix said.

"Very well," Edgeworth said, "We just aren't companionable friends anymore. Perhaps we should accept that and move on. I can do that. Why can't you?"

Phoenix just shook his head and glared hard at Edgeworth, "What happened to you? I mean—what really happened to make you into such a crazy fuck?"

"There's no need to get vulgar, Wright," Edgeworth said, he was still glaring stonily at him. Then Edgeworth pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Phoenix. Phoenix hesitated and then took it to dab his throbbing lip.

"I guess maybe I am rude—because I'm honest. I am immodest—because I'm not afraid of who I am. I'm naïve because I want to believe in the best of people. I'm stupid because I thought maybe I could save you. Because I cared about you. I never had a friend like you after you left. I talked to people. I hung out and went to parties—but I didn't have a friend like what I remembered of you. Maybe that kid I remembered never existed… Maybe you're just some asshole with the same name…"

Edgeworth turned to face him directly. His expression was open—hurt. Phoenix might have felt bad if the guy hadn't just punched him out. Edgeworth didn't say anything and slowly his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and he looked away.

"You just don't care about anybody, do you?"

Edgeworth didn't answer but kept his back to Phoenix, hands on the bench, head down. Phoenix found himself fixated with they way his shoulder blades showed through his pink jacket. He dabbed his lip with Edgeworth's handkerchief and stuck his tongue behind his bottom lip to better assess the damage. His bottom lip was swollen and split. His teeth had cut in from the inside and there was blood in his saliva.

"Are you going to say anything to me Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth didn't move.

"This was right up there with the worst day ever…" Phoenix said quietly, "Do you want this back?"

Edgeworth didn't even turn his head.

"Keep it."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! So what color is it then?**_

_Edgeworth in denial..._

_:( a not so sunny Phoenix chapter…_

_This is weird—mostly in Phoenix POV. The second flashback is in both Ps OV (Phoenix and Miles) I don't like doing that, but I couldn't find a way to get it to work otherwise._

_First flashbackwhen our two favorite lawyers are both nine. This happens after the class trial, but before Miles and Phoenix are really friends._

_Second flashback they're both 19._

_In retentis is another legal term regarding documents that are kept separately from the rest of a case—for special reasons. Here it is meant also in the sense of 'things held back' or 'things [not said]' _


	38. Trench Coat Intermezzo

**Chapter 38**

**Trench Coat Intermezzo**

_Miles opened the door and groaned inwardly when he saw the big detective._

_ "Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said with a grin, "I'm glad you're here!"_

_ Miles stared at him for several moments, debating as to whether he should allow the man into his office or not. He stepped aside._

_ "You've been hard to find, Edgeworth," Gumshoe said._

_ "I've been here all day," Miles said, "Yesterday too."_

_ Gumshoe looked at him with an expression of sympathy and concern. Miles didn't like it._

_ "What do you want detective?" Miles said._

_ "I wanted to see if you were okay," Gumshoe said, "I was going to bring you something to cheer you up… but I don't have any money…"_

_ "Of course I'm fine," Miles said and crossed his arms, "Why wouldn't I be?"_

_ "Why?" Gumshoe said, "Are you really asking me why, Pal?"_

_ Miles made a face at him and then turned toward his desk so that his back was turned toward Gumshoe. Maybe if he ignored the detective, he would just go away._

_ "I'm still a little upset myself," Gumshoe said, "Last night I had a dream about it."_

_ When Miles neglected to inquire about the man's dream, the detective continued._

_ "I see dead people all the time in this line of work," Gumshoe said, "But I almost never see people die. And I've never seen anyone die like that guy Ter—"_

_ "Enough!" Miles said, "Is that the only reason you're in here?"_

_ "Well," Gumshoe said, "It's lunchtime. I rode over here with one of the more senior detectives. He was going to grab his little brother and he asked if I wanted to come along. So I asked if I could bring a prosecutor too."_

_ Gumshoe sat and chuckled. Miles was at a loss for words. There was only one detective who had a brother in the DA._

_ "Well sir," Gumshoe said. He was still smiling._

"_Join us for lunch?"_

_ "I don't know," Miles said, "Mister Von Karma—"_

_ "Mister Von Karma already said he doesn't care if you go or not."_

_ Miles put a hand over his brow, "You already talked to him?"_

_ For some reason, Jake Marshall had a cactus sitting shotgun in his beat up Taurus and Miles had the unique pleasure of sitting between Detective Gumshoe and Prosecutor Neil Marshall in what Detective Marshall affectionately referred to as 'the bitch seat'. Miles did not find that amusing._

_ Apparently the other three men in that party had discussed a lunch location and they'd neglected to inform Miles of the venue until they arrived._

_ "Tito Jimenez?" Miles read the sign a loud._

_ "Mexican food," Prosecutor Marshall said smacking Miles on the back while he stood gaping at the sign._

_ Since Miles had lived with Mister Von Karma, it was rare that he'd had the chance to go to many restaurants. Mister Von Karma, preferred to have meals at home—where he could control them. That is not to say Miles' had never been to a restaurant, as the Von Karmas and their ward would occasionally have a meal in a restaurant. But Miles had never been in a restaurant like this. You know, the kind where one didn't need reservations and there was no dress code._

_ A few customers looked up when the four suits walked into the establishment. The girl at the podium smiled prettily at them and led them toward one of the large booths in the center of the restaurant. She waited until they were seated before passing out napkin wrapped silverware and laminated menus. She never spoke a word._

_ Miles picked up his menu, not sure where to begin, and gazed apprehensively at the other men in the party. Detective Marshall hadn't opened his menu at all but had his cheek in his hand and grinned at Gumshoe. Gumshoe—apparently—did not need to look at the menu either._

_ "What's a polo?" Miles asked._

_ "Pollo," Prosecutor Marshall corrected pointedly, "means chicken. Carnes is beef. Pescado is fish."_

_ "Oh," Miles said, he sank lower in his seat and hid behind the menu._

_ "Gant said Valerie's memorial is going to be on Tuesday of next week," Detective Marshall said, "Most of us at the department are going to try and be there, if the job permits. He wanted to try and get as many of you guys to come down as well."_

_ "Von Karma already said no," Prosecutor Marshall said, "Payne declined too. But pretty much everyone else has expressed their condolences and most of them say they're going to try and make it. Isn't that right, Edgeworth?"_

_ Miles popped up from behind his menu, "What?"_

_ The three other men at the table laughed. Miles glared at them and slid back behind the menu._

_ "Angel's taken up a collection to buy flowers for the family," Detective Marshall said, "You reckon no one'll be angry if she goes down to the prosecutor's building to try and get some donations?"_

_ "I don't see why not," Prosecutor Marshall replied, "She's well known over there. Plus everyone is upset about Valerie, she was a good detective. She had a lot going for her."_

_ "I still can't believe that she's gone," Gumshoe said, "I just had a chat with her last Friday. About a case I was working on, she took some time and helped me out… I can't believe she's gone."_

_ "What's an enchilada?" Miles said._

_ No one answered at first, as his question was so glaringly incongruous. Detective Marshall shook his head, Gumshoe frowned, and finally Prosecutor Neil spoke up._

_ "It's like a Mexican lasagna," he said._

_ "What's a la—" Miles began._

_ "Why don't you just order it, buckaroo?" Detective Marshall said, "Won't kill you to try something new."_

_ Miles put down the menu and crossed his arms, blushing slightly. The other three men were staring at him._

_ "I didn't know Detective Hawthorne very well," Miles said, "I don't think I've ever spoken to her."_

_ "Fair enough," Prosecutor Marshall said._

_ "Neil," Detective Marshall said, "This ain't a dry lunch is it? Dick and I usually wet our whistles—just a little bit."_

_ "Hey brother, y'all are the police," Prosecutor Marshall replied. He shoved at Miles with his elbow, "This one's underage though."_

_ Miles glared around at them._

_ "Perfect," Detective Marshall said, "we don't even have to sweat it. We got a driver. Can you drive, kid?"_

_ "Yes of course," Miles said._

_ "You're the best, Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, grinning and offering a thumbs up._

_ "Now we're talking," Detective Marshall said, "Seniorita Margarita…"_

_ Miles raised an eyebrow inquisitively, "Wait… What's happening?"_

* * *

"I told you," Miles said with not a little irritation in his voice, "I can't give you anything else—I'm a prosecutor. I'm only concerned with the legality of the case. What you're asking for requires that you speak to the investigating detective."

Gumshoe looked toward Marshall to gauge his reaction.

"You heard what Goodman said!" Marshall pressed again, "He doesn't want to drag any of that out in the open again."

Gumshoe turned to look at Miles.

"Then you've arrived at an impasse," Miles said and crossed his arms. He turned away from the patrol cop and looked out at the ocean.

Marshall banged his hand on the hood of Gumshoe's car and put his fedora back on. He began to pace in front of it.

"Hey pal," Gumshoe said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Marshall said, "I reckon everybody and their pretty paint ponies are sorry. Sorry doesn't make up for justice."

The three of them stood there in morose contemplation. Miles had been mildly curious when they first approached him. He never thought too long about SL-9. That case always felt wrong. Goodman was adamant about just letting things go. He seemed to want to avoid SL-9 the same way Miles avoided elevators. Miles cleared his throat—perhaps…

"Do you think he's been threatened? Maybe someone is forcing him to keep that case shut tight?"

"Who would anyone threaten the police?" Gumshoe said.

"Lot's of folks hate cops," Marshall said, "I don't recall Bruce had many enemies, though. He's a nice guy."

Miles started to get nervous, "What if it was another policeman?"

Both of them stared at Miles.

"Hey, pal," Gumshoe said, "We're a brotherhood. No one's stabbing anyone else in the back."

Marshall shook his head, "It's like he still believes in Santa Claus."

Miles almost laughed.

"What? You got to have faith in the organization," Gumshoe said, "If you don't it will all come crashing down."

Miles glowered at Gumshoe. He coughed once, and Marshall scratched his head and looked away.

Both cars, Miles' Alfa Romeo and Gumshoe's battered Crown Vic were parked beside each other on a scenic overlook that faced the ocean. Miles didn't feel safe at the Prosecutor's building or at the Police Department. Marshall was probably feeling the same way.

"Who," Marshall said, thinking aloud, "Would want SL-9 buried forever…?"

"There you are," Miles said, "You can follow that line of logic home."

"Nah, we been stuck there since we started this," Marshall said, "Ain't nothing new or different."

"Well," Miles said and opened his car door, "Maybe there's nothing wrong with that case at all."

"I know that's not true," Marshall said with much conviction, "I know it in my guts—in my heart of hearts. This is for Neil, you liked Neil, right?"

"I didn't dislike him," Miles said, "But I can't find any legal reason to reopen that case, unless you can bring in new evidence—that requires Goodman's cooperation. Either way, there are still new crimes and live cases that need my—our—attention. Let this one go—you continue to waste your time and drive yourself to near madness when there's nothing to be done. The ruling on that case will not change."

"Edgeworth you said you were going to help, me," Marshall said.

"I said I'd look into it," Miles replied; he was beginning to get irritated.

"Yeah, and now you're backing off just as quick as Goodman—like you found a rattlesnake in the cupboard."

"Yes, well," Miles said turning to open the door to his car, "Enough of this. I do have to get back to the office."

"Edgeworth," Marshall said suddenly beseeching, "I'm almost there. I'm so close to breaking this case wide open—"

"Marshall," Miles said, "Almost only counts with hand-grenades."

Miles sat in his car and pulled the door closed—then he turned on the auxiliary power and opened his window, "Good day. Gumshoe, you'll be by my office later?"

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "I need to get you back to the precinct, Marshall."

Miles closed his window. He started his car and pulled out of the parking area. He turned hard letting gravel fly and then popped it into gear to speed back toward the highway. It was quiet on the road; it was late morning, so most people would be at work or school, or whatever. He shifted down to get a little more torque going downhill—these cars weren't as much fun on the incline.

He saw Gumshoe in his rearview mirror surprised that jalopy could catch him up—only to realize how slow he was going in his caution. Miles moved to the left and Gumshoe pulled up beside him. He was half-hanging out of the window.

Miles opened his window halfway.

"Hey pal," Gumshoe said, "The speed limit on the grade is forty."

"Right," Miles said and closed his window.

He sped up and then cut in front of Gumshoe's car, when the road flattened out, he shoved back into gear and lost the Crown Vic in the dust.

He jogged steadily up the stairs to the twelfth floor and then waited inside the stairwell door. It seemed quiet in the corridor. He opened the door slowly and looked into the hall—empty. Miles exited the stairwell and all but ran to his office.

He closed and locked the door behind him and studied the room. He went to the small bathroom hugging the wall as he went. He peered inside—empty.

It took him a good half hour to complete his check—better than the first day back. Miles shrugged out of his jacket and turned on the kettle and then the computer. Someone knocked on the door—Miles stopped himself halfway into ducking under his desk. He stood and stared at the door. The knock sounded again.

He opened the door slowly, just enough to see who was knocking.

"Um, Mister Edgeworth?" It was only the mail guy—Tim or Tom…

Miles opened the door, surprised when Tim/Tom wheeled the cart into his office. On top of the cart was an immense bouquet of flowers. Roses and lilies and gladiolus… He stared at it forgetting to mask the look of terror on his face.

"Nice," Mail guy said, "The vase even looks like your suit… with the little ruffle thing…"

Miles wasn't listening to the mail guy as his voice trailed off. But he did manage to compose himself.

"You—mail guy…" Miles gestured with his hand.

"Steve," he said—Miles blinked—he was way off.

"Steve, has this thing been through security?"

"What? The flowers?"

"Yes—everything should be inspected—Everything."

"Well, it was one of the security guys that brought it up here."

Miles was circling the cart now glaring suspiciously at the bouquet.

"Dude," Steve said, "You're freaking me out."

Miles glared at him, "Who sent you?"

"I-I'm… I've been working here for like two years man! I brought that framed suit up when it was delivered and helped you hang it up, remember?"

"Hey pal!" Gumshoe barged in out of nowhere and took Miles by the shoulder, "Lay off of the mail guy, sir."

Miles was glaring at Gumshoe now. "Don't barge in here telling me what to do! Anymore of that and I'll have it out of your pay!"

"Mister Edgeworth, you're talking about a bunch of flowers," Gumshoe grinned.

The detective grabbed the vase the flowers were in and held them up toward Miles, "Where do you want these?"

"I don't even know where they came from," Miles said, "I don't think it's safe to just put flowers in my office when I don't know where they came from."

Gumshoe frowned, "They're from someone named Wendy. The card says 'Back from the dead'. That seems pretty harmless."

"Yes, but I don't really know who—"

"It's safe, Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said.

"I suppose it's quite a lovely arrangement," Miles said begrudgingly.

Gumshoe went to put the flowers by the window and Miles turned toward the mail guy.

"Mail guy," Miles said, "Do you have any other correspondence for me?"

"Steve," mail guy said, "Yeah, I need signatures for each of these."

Mail guy held up three reinforced yellow envelopes and waggled them in the air while offering a big handset with a screen that would accept signatures with a stylus.

Miles signed for the packages while Gumshoe cut in to take them from mail guy.

"They've finally arrived, " Miles said.

"Oh and Mister Edgeworth," mail guy said, "The usual."

He passed Miles a mail carton made of corrugated plastic full of official correspondences and documents. Miles frowned at the carton and walked it over to his desk, "Thanks Tim."

Mail guy was grumbling as he left the room. Miles had set the mail carton on his desk and was sorting the letters into piles. Gumshoe walked out of the office and before Miles had made it through the pile of correspondence, he returned with a TV cart. He wheeled the cart in front of the divan in Miles' office and began setting it up.

Miles paused and looked at his kettle with a frown before starting it again.

"Should I turn off the lights?" Gumshoe said.

"Yes," Miles said as he tugged the cord for the blinds to shut out the light. He poured hot water into the teapot to let it steep before joining Gumshoe on the divan.

"Is that everything?" Miles asked while Gumshoe was tearing the packages open. He handed the first DVD to Miles.

It was labeled 'Blood Spatter-2, 4 5 and 7'. Miles stared at the chapter guide on the back absently taking the second proffered DVD from Gumshoe. This one was called, 'Re-enactments One-handed/Two-handed'.

"Well, these should make everything so much easier," Miles said. He accepted the third DVD from Gumshoe.

"Finally," he said. The third DVD had garish commercial packaging separating it from the plainly marked re-enactment DVDs Miles had ordered made. The third one was labeled, 'Panic in Neo-Olde Tokyo: Steel Samurai the Movie Seven'.

"Which one should we watch first?" Gumshoe asked.

"Do you really have to ask?"

* * *

_"It's two in the morning!" Gumshoe said, "What are you doing here?"_

_ Miles was staring at him in utter confusion. He was wearing his pajamas and a raincoat. He had his sneakers on._

_ "Mister Edgeworth?" Gumshoe got out of the car and grabbed his arms. The detective shook him roughly and the young prosecutor closed his eyes and slumped against him—fast asleep._

_ "Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, now cradling the young man. He half dragged, half carried Miles into the passenger seat of his unmarked Crown Vic. Miles slumped forward until his head hit the dashboard._

_ Miles startled and looked around—eyes wide in terror. He tried to push past Gumshoe and climb back out of the car._

_ "Edgeworth!" Gumshoe yelled shoving forward to keep Miles in the passenger seat. Gumshoe held him for what seemed like several minutes before he stopped struggling._

_ "Detective Gumshoe?" Miles said, "What on earth do you think you're doing! I'll have you charged with—!"_

_ Gumshoe put his hand over his mouth, "No way Pal! You called me. I found you standing here like this. You're the one who has some explaining to do."_

_ Miles stared at him, unmoving. Gumshoe slowly lifted his hand from Miles' face. Miles fumbled in the pocket of his robe and found his cell phone. He glanced once at the big detective before flipping to his recent calls. Miles swallowed._

_ "I called you half an hour ago," Miles said._

_ "Yeah," Gumshoe said, "You had me worried like crazy."_

_ Miles brow furrowed as he stared at the screen of his phone, "Why would… This doesn't make sense—I went to bed hours ago."_

_ "But you're all right?" Gumshoe asked, "You're not hurt?"_

_ "No," Miles said._

_ Gumshoe exhaled with relief and stood up. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Miles._

_ "Don't scare me—"_

_ "Detective, where are we?"_

_ "I don't know," Gumshoe said, "When you called me, I assumed you were at your house. So I left straight there from the precinct—we're about two miles or so from your place."_

_ Miles frowned—a person could easily walk two miles in half an hour…_

_ "Were you sleepwalking?"_

_ "I don't think so… I don't have a history of sleepwalking…" Miles frowned, "I don't normally sleep very well."_

_ Gumshoe frowned at him, "Is there anything you did differently tonight? Something that might've triggered something like this?"_

_ "I'm not a doctor, Gumshoe," Miles said, "But… I did start a new medication a day or two ago—for sleeping problems."_

_ "You have sleep problems? Like insomnia?"_

_ "Well, not exactly…"_

_ Gumshoe prompted him with his eyebrows when Miles trailed off._

_ "You won't share this with anyone?"_

_ "No way. You can count on me."_

_ Miles hesitated a moment, but of course, Gumshoe would keep a secret at the risk of perjury. He wouldn't tell to save his own skin. He'd seen that happen with Gumshoe before._

_ "I have nightmares."_

_ "Sir, everyone gets nightmares."_

_ "Yeah but," Miles said, "Mine are a little more—I have terrors at night. Ever since I was a boy. Sometimes I don't remember what happened. Most of the time it's the same dream over and over again."_

_ "What—"_

_ "Please," Miles said, "I don't want to talk about it—suffice to say, I'd discussed this to a certain extent with my doctor. He gave me this medicine to see if it would help me sleep through the night."_

_ "Did you have a nightmare tonight?"_

_ "No," Miles said._

_ "So it's working," Gumshoe said, "If you're not dreaming, then you're fine. Right?"_

_ "I didn't say I didn't dream," Miles said, "I just didn't have that nightmare."_

_ Gumshoe stared at him._

_ "I was dreaming," Miles said, "I dreamt I visited my father's house. He was home… He asked me where I've been…"_

_ Miles put his hands over his face. Gumshoe frowned and closed the door._

_ "I need to get you back," Gumshoe said, "You need a second opinion."_

_ "Hmm, yes," Miles said. He sat up and buckled his seatbelt and then crossed his arms over his chest._

_ "Do you want me to take you home, or should I take you to the hospital?"_

_ "Home," Miles said, "I have to be at work in a few hours."_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "How long will you be on graves?"_

_ "Only a couple more days, I'm filling in for someone."_

_ "Good, I'd rather have you back at your desk, detective."_

_ Gumshoe only smiled and started the car._

* * *

Miles had stripped down to his tee-shirt so Gumshoe could see the cuts and scratches on his forearms.

"This is the best stuff for it that I know of," Gumshoe said, "I have to go all the way to Chinatown to get it—but it's worth it."

Miles didn't care about the salve. He only wanted Gumshoe to know. He knew that Gumshoe wouldn't ask any questions nor would he spread the word out.

A few of the gashes on his arms needed stitches, but not enough to spark very much concern. Most of the cuts were either thin dry scabs or they'd faded to white lines almost unnoticeable against Miles' already pale skin.

"This one here is nasty," Gumshoe said slathering a long gash just inside his left arm below his elbow. Miles remembered a large shard of glass sticking out of it. Wellington had blanched at the sight of it. The doctor put four stitches on it.

"That should do it," Gumshoe said when he was finished, "And whatever you did—I wouldn't recommend doing it that way again."

Miles smiled a little at that.

Gumshoe went into the bathroom to wash his hands and Miles absently stared at the DVD menu for Panic in Neo-Olde Tokyo: Steel Samurai the Movie Seven as it played over and over again. He pressed eject on the player and returned the disc to its case. Miles picked up Reenactments One Handed/Two handed and inserted the disc into the player.

"Hey what happened to the mirror?" Gumshoe asked as he exited the bathroom.

"I had it removed," Miles said.

"Why?"

"I was tired of it."

"Yeah, I could see that," Gumshoe said, "Plain, rectangular glass mirrors are kind of old fashioned."

Miles raised an eyebrow and gave him a sidelong look. Gumshoe was scratching his ear and trembling with a silent chuckle.

Miles glanced at his watch and sat down to watch the videos he'd commissioned for the upcoming trial. Gumshoe was still standing and looking at him quizzically.

"I understand if you have other business to attend to," Miles said.

"Yeah," Gumshoe said, "But I can take care of that tomorrow…"

Gumshoe sat beside Miles again.

They both stared at the screen as the actors mimicked strangling the first victim with a baton. Miles shuddered—suddenly seeing this was very unsettling.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles turned to look at Gumshoe, "What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Miles said, but he hesitated before turning back to the screen.

"I didn't want to say anything yesterday, or the day before," Gumshoe said, "Because you seemed like you were very busy."

Miles turned back to him.

"But I heard about Von Karma—everyone has."

Miles' brow furrowed a little more and he looked back at the screen. Miles couldn't tell what was worse; the people getting strangled on the television or the conversation Gumshoe was trying to have with him.

"It seems like you're taking it well though," Gumshoe said.

The actress playing the victims was a lovely girl with curly dark red hair and a pale complexion scattered with freckles. Miles swallowed as he watched her get fake garroted the second time.

"He hanged himself," Miles said bluntly, "I suppose he wanted it over with. I can't really blame him."

"Yeah," Gumshoe said absently. The actress had moved into position to play victim number five and the snug little camisole she was wearing lifted up high enough to show her pale little belly and the jewel she wore in her pierced navel. Gumshoe started to chuckle. Miles stopped breathing. The actor playing Sheinheilig was holding her pale throat with one hand while she kicked and struggled against him.

Miles got up from the divan suddenly and walked toward the window both hands on the back of his head. He was blowing out and sucking in his breaths loudly, trying to keep steady.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles was pacing now in front of the window. Gumshoe got up and took his arms to stop him and hold him there. They stood nearly face-to-face—well, Gumshoe was still a couple inches taller than Miles.

"What just happened?"

"Uh," Miles said, suddenly calm, "I'm fine now. No bother…"

"Yeah but you—"

"Never mind that," Miles said and he went back to the divan where his shirt and vest were still waiting. He slid the white shirt on and started to button it, starting from the bottom.

"Was it the video?" Gumshoe asked while the actress fake died again.

Miles shook his head and pulled the white cloth of his cravat over his shoulder. Using his faded reflection in the glass of the mounted brocade jacket on the wall to gauge the length.

"Come on Pal," Gumshoe said, "You've been odd the last couple days. What's going on?"

"What do you mean odd?" Miles said as he tied the cravat, his movements were quick and deft from constant practice.

"I assure you I am perfectly well," Miles said, "You shouldn't worry about me. Not when we've got so many other things on our respective platters."

Gumshoe scratched his head.

Miles frowned and tugged at the silk at his throat. Then he looked down to check that it was straight and even against his chest.

"Well," Miles said as he picked up the black vest, "Since Mister Von Karma died, I do have a lot of personal matters to attend to outside of work. Not the least of which is my untimely occupation by 'ze Germans'. But I mustn't complain about that—they've all lost a relative or a friend. It's only right that I do what I can for them in this time of need."

"What do you mean? Funeral stuff? Do you have to arrange all of that? Because I can help out, if you need it, and I'm sure most of the boys down at the precinct would be glad to—"

"That's very kind of you, detective, but I assure you, I have everything in order."

Miles tugged at the bottom of the vest and then ran his hand over to smooth it. Gumshoe was slouched and frowning on the divan while the actress was murdered on the screen again.

"Well if you need anything, Pal," Gumshoe said, "Anything. Let me know, I want to help where I can."

Miles paused from where he was perusing the correspondences still scattered on his desk and looked over at the detective. His mouth tugged into the tiniest hint of a smile—but this one touched his eyes as well.

"I know," Miles said, "And I thank you, detective."

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Thank you to all the returning readers! I very much appreciate your interest in the story.**_

_I like Edgeworth and Gumshoe. _

_The first flashback is from just after the Hawthorne murder trial. Miles is 20. Sob! The tragedy of the Marshall brothers…_

_Second flashback is sometime between 21 and 23…_

_Miles gets a nice break by hiding out with Gumshoe… Aww…_

_I don't like to beg for R&R in my stories, because I feel like it's kind of over demanding… But it really does help, especially when I'm starting to lose steam (again)._

_so um... PLEASE Review! I'm just dying for some feedback!_


	39. The Great Crimson Hype

**Chapter 39**

**The Great Crimson Hype**

_Miles parked his car inside the basement garage of his building. Where should he begin with this? How was he supposed to approach this?_

_ The nightmare image of Von Karma's dead face—red and bloated, the eyes staring oddly, the tongue sticking out pale and dry—flashed in front of his eyes again and again. At least he'd done that alone. At least Franziska wouldn't have that image burned into her mind. Miles sighed—on top of everything else… Manfred Von Karma was such an asshole._

_ The death of his mentor did not change what he was still feeling. It didn't change his fear or his hurt. But now he had to get it together, because Franziska was going to flip her shit when he gave her the news. Miles had to be calm for her._

_He looked down at his shaking hands. The bandages Wellington had used to cover up the cuts and scrapes from the mirror were peeling on the edges and dark where the adhesive had seeped on top of the cloth and picked up the dirt from the environment around him. Some places the bandages were stiff and browned from where blood seeped through. He was not the right person for this._

_His hands shook so badly he couldn't even clench his fists to hide the tremors. The detectives hadn't been paying attention. For them and the coroner his visit was a formality that needed observed—there were no questions to be answered. No mysteries to be solved._

_The note said it all pretty plainly, they told him. Case closed, moving on. They gave it to him before he left and it smoldered in the passenger seat where he dropped it, unread, when he got into the car to come home. Miles glanced at the seat beside him once before sitting up straight in his bucket seat and staring blankly through the windshield at the garage wall in front of him. _

_He couldn't deal with this right now—why did this have to happen right now—how could this happen now of all the—why now—why not next week or next month—why now?_

_Miles sucked in a deep shuddering breath. He could still feel the bruising pain in his throat—that really happened. No, Miles—that really happened. No._

_When he exhaled he relaxed some. He waited a few minutes—two or twenty—he wasn't counting. He tried to clear his mind—blank. Nothing. I am an island._

_Miles caught himself breathing deep ragged breaths—come on—get it together. _

_Finally he dragged one of his shredded and bandaged hands over his face—lingering over his nose and mouth. None of this should matter as much as it did…_

_Miles picked up the folded piece of paper from the seat beside him. It was torn out of a ruled journal—a nice one, based on the weight of the paper and smooth cream-colored page with the sharp crisp rule—the note was hidden in one fold. He lifted the top half of the paper so that Mister Von Karma's precise hand slid into view._

'_Miles,_

_I think you were telling me goodbye and I was mad not to hear it. I've spent the days thinking about your goodbye. I have nothing here but to drown in the pool of my shame. It was shame that drove me to madness so long ago. And Pride. Redemption would come in caring for you, I thought. Because you were his son. But that wasn't credit equal to the debt. All I ever did was not enough for you. Not enough to pay it back. All you became was a shadow of me. There was no easy answer to everything. There was no way to bury the ugly truth. Take care of my daughters, because I won't be here for them anymore.'_

_Miles glared at the note on that fine leaf of paper with a ragged edge from where it had been torn from the journal. It was a cop out. A selfish cop out. But somehow Miles couldn't blame him. He was clutching the paper in his hand so tightly it hurt him and the paper started to crumple and crease—his phone rang._

_Miles blinked. He picked up the phone and answered; putting it to his head._

"_Edgeworth," he said._

"_It's Chief Skye," she said._

"_Yes."_

"_Honeymoon is going to trial in five days."_

"_Right."_

"_Do you have everything ready?"_

"_Yes of course."_

"_Can I expect you in the office tomorrow?"_

_Miles didn't say anything._

"_Edgeworth?"_

"_I need one more day," he said, "something's come up."_

"_Is it serious? Is there anything I can do?"_

"_Just give me tomorrow as well," Miles said, "I'll be in after that."_

"_That's fine. I'll see you when you come in."_

_Miles hung up the phone, slightly dazed. He made as if to toss his phone through his windshield before deciding to put it in his pocket. Better get up there and get this over with._

* * *

Miles left his flat before dawn and raced toward the Von Karma house. Over the last three days or so, the number of relatives and family had increased several fold. Miles wasn't sure what surprised him more, the sheer number of family that came out of the woodwork and willingly spent the money to make their way here, or the fact that he'd never even heard of most of these people.

The house seemed suddenly festive and lived in, as the great majority of the family were staying there. The house was also prepared for a reception that evening—to follow the funeral. Mister Von Karma was surprisingly popular.

Miles went immediately into the upstairs family wing—where the rooms he and Franziska used when they lived there were located. His room had been re-appropriated years ago, but Mister Von Karma had always kept a place for Franziska. Miles walked softly along the corridor—hoping to avoid any contact with any of the relatives—and tapped on Franziska's door.

She opened the door slowly and peered out at him before grabbing him by a magenta sleeve and pulling him inside then shutting the door quickly behind him.

Miles barely had time to register what had happened before she had him pressed against the inside of the door, her arms wrapped tight around his ribs. He had his arms up in surprise but lowered them slowly to hug her back.

"That's enough now, love," he said, "I have to be in court this morning, please don't wrinkle my suit."

She gave him a dark look and for a moment she seemed her old self. Slowly, the somber expression eased back onto her face. All of the spit and fire she carried in those pale blue eyes had faded and only her quiet lamentation showed dull and almost tragic. Miles swallowed, it hurt to look at her. It was painful to have to see everyday the madness of the Von Karma clan—all of these distant cousins and relations—and Franziska's withdrawal.

The last few evenings he'd come to choke down his dinner while the shouting and arguing went on. Franziska seemed to grow more and more distant. No one seemed to notice her pain—they were worried about who was entitled to what; which cousin was closest to 'Uncle Manfred'; who should've been here and who shouldn't have bothered to come. Even Adelheid had been caught up in the storm.

Miles felt as distant from the Von Karma clan as he had from their makeshift family growing up. He understood how lonely and empty she felt—because he never stopped feeling it. He'd learned to keep it hidden away with everything else—but she was still fighting it; for her it was still raw and very real. At least he could be there for his little sister.

He sat with her on top of her bed. The room was hers from the time she was about eleven and even now, there were many of the trappings of her girlhood. She had pictures of her horses. Ribbons and trophies. There were several dolls—most of them he'd found a way acquire for her when they were much younger.

Franziska had her head against his left arm, both of her hands twined around his left hand. At least she wasn't crying this morning.

"I know you're angry at Papa," she said softly while outside the cold gray sky was being chased away by the fiercely rising sun. Miles didn't reply—he couldn't trust himself to speak. Plus he had to be in court in a few hours—he didn't have time to be emotional.

"But at least you had a chance to say goodbye," she said, "That day, when we visited him—you were so upset. I know you loved him too Miles. Because he was your Papa too."

Miles picked up his arm and hugged her tight—mostly because he didn't like the direction her words were heading. Mister Von Karma never replaced his father. He never could.

"Do you want to watch the trial today?" Miles asked her.

"Your Honeymoon Killer?"

"It'll get you away from all of this," Miles said, "At least for a little while."

"I want to," she said, "But Mama wants me to go to the salon with her—before the funeral."

Of course Diana would be concerned with something like that. Miles stood and Franziska followed him. He put his arm over her shoulders and opened the door. It was still quiet in the hall and it would be hours yet before the others began to stir.

As they walked together toward the stairs he dropped his arm and they clasped hands—like they did when they were children, and he led her toward the stairs and down into the living areas of the house.

"Franziska," Miles frowned when he saw Diana in her dressing gown staring at them from the railing on the floor above, "Was machst du denn da?"

"Nichts," Franziska said and she tightened her grip on his hand, "Ich wollte bei ihm zu verweilen."

"Edgeworth," she said his name like 'Ejj vurts', "How long were you here?"

"I got in this morning," Miles said with forced congeniality—no sense getting the old bird all riled up this early in the morning, "I was just checking on her."

"Hmmm," Diana said and sneered at him, "You don't need to do that."

It was hard for him to tell if she meant that as pointedly as she sounded—because her English was so poor.

"Sie wissen, spreche ich fließend Deutsch," Miles said and she raised her painted on eyebrows up even more sharply.

After several moments in the heat of her glare, Franziska urged him forward and they walked toward a front sitting room where the morning sunlight was streaming in.

Diana called out to Franziska again.

"Later, Mama!" Franziska shouted back.

"She really doesn't like me," Miles said.

"It's like all of them, they think you're an interloper. Even though you've been closer to Papa than anyone in this house. No body knows my Papa better than you do."

Miles frowned. Even he hadn't realized that. No one in the family had spent so much time with Manfred Von Karma in the last ten years. No one.

They sat on one of the divans in the room. It was close to the front windows and Miles glimpsed the red of his car outside. Franziska held on to his hand for dear life. He didn't think she'd done that to him ever.

"Franziska," Miles said after a few moments of silence to gauge their privacy in the now crowded mansion, "I don't know how long I'll be in court today—I may miss the funeral."

"Papa is dead," Franziska said, her voice was surprisingly steady, "He won't care."

"I'm sorry," Miles said and he turned away from her, wanting to look anywhere but into that face.

Franziska ran a hand up his sleeve and rubbed him affectionately on the back of his arm, "Are you going to have a perfect trial today?"

"I will," Miles said absently.

"You can finish in less than ten minutes if you've got everything together."

"Ten minutes?"

"I know, little brother," she said solemnly, "You still aren't as perfect as I am."

* * *

_Miles got into the car behind Franziska. Mister Von Karma was in the front passenger seat beside his chauffeur. It was late, they'd been at the courthouse all day._

_ "Are you satisfied?" The old man didn't even spare them a glance as the car jerked into motion._

_ "Yes, Papa," Franziska said, "Fortunately I was there to solve the case."_

_ Miles gave her a sidelong glance but didn't argue with her. He was still a little shaken from the shooting and meeting all of the people he'd met today. His first trial that never happened._

_ "Will you prepared to stand trial when the opportunity come again?"_

_ Miles swallowed, unsure what Mister Von Karma's tone implied. He hadn't killed the defendant or the prosecutor._

_ "Sir, I was prepared for the trial today—"_

_ "That isn't what I asked you Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said._

_ "Yes, sir," Miles said, "I will be ready."_

_ Mister Von Karma chuckled in his seat._

_ "I'm prepared for a trial as well," Franziska said waving her riding crop in the air._

_ "Mister Von Karma," Miles asked tentatively, "Did you know prosecutor Faraday?"_

_ "Of course, we worked in the same office. What kind of stupid question is that?"_

_ Miles frowned; Franziska laughed. He didn't want to say anything else after that for fear of further retaliation from the old man. But Miles was worried about Kay, and what would happen to her._

_ "Papa, will we have dinner when we get home?"_

_ "Yes, of course," Mister Von Karma said—his tone much gentler._

_ Miles looked sidelong at Franziska—he thought the question she'd asked was more stupid. He crossed his arms solemnly and watched the city fly past as they headed toward the Von Karma mansion._

_ When they pulled into the drive, Miles got out and held the door open for Franziska. Mister Von Karma left them at the car and went inside the imposing house without a backward glance._

_ "Miles," Franziska whispered at him before they went in. He paused to look at her and she tapped his arm with her crop beckoning him to give her an ear._

_ "Miles, what do you think will happen to the Faraday girl?"_

_ Miles frowned, "I was going to ask Mister Von Karma. But he…"_

_ Miles trailed off. Franziska smiled and tapped him with the crop again for emphasis._

_ "I'll ask him for you!"_

_ Miles smiled at her as she turned and strode into the house._

* * *

Miles exited the witness lounge and paced the lobby near the vending machines. He kept his eyes down, back straight—hopefully no one would stop him. He was spoiling for this trial like a thoroughbred for the race. At least it was an excuse to clear his mind of everything else and focus.

As he made his way toward the courtroom, he was stopped just outside the courtroom doors, by a growing crowd of journalists and reporters, their cameramen and sound guys. Miles put his head down and started to shove through them.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth—!"

"Do you have any last words before this trial—"

"Is the state certain—"

He managed to push into the courtroom unruffled and paused inside the doors in relief. He was startled by Chief Gant's large hand landing on his shoulder. Miles stiffened so suddenly he almost fell over.

"Little Worthy," Gant said, "You got this today, don't you?"

Miles glared up at him but said nothing.

"Ah, you're speechless," Gant gave him a little shove toward the Prosecution table, "Don't forget what we talked about…"

Miles shuddered as the other man turned away and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand—he didn't have time for things like that. He had a murderer to put in prison.

**February 7, 10:00 A.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 1**

"**Court is now in session for the trial of Mister Kurt Sheinheilig," the judge said.**

Lana Skye stood at the table with Miles—getting a rare chance to assist in a case—after all, 'Honeymoon' could make or break this district. Miles only spared her a glance before turning to face the judge.

"**Are you ready Prosecutor Edgeworth?"**

"**I am your honor," Edgeworth said.**

The defense attorney was an older man Miles didn't recognize. He had dark hair and a very well manicured moustache. His co-council was a young man—younger even than Miles—he was blonde and wore glasses. The two of them stood still and relaxed in the overcrowded courtroom. Miles thought this interesting—finally someone who seemed to take this as seriously as he did.

"**The Defense is ready as well your Honor."**

"**Very well then, Prosecutor Edgeworth, your opening statement." The judge said.**

Miles glanced sidelong at the defense and then cleared his throat.

**"I needn't waste too much time," Edgeworth said, "We're here to bring justice to twelve brutally murdered young women. Twelve daughters, sisters, and friends whose lives were cut short by this man here." Edgeworth pointed at the defendant. "Now, I'm going to prove it."**

** "Well…" the Judge said.**

** "You're going to prove it like you proved it last time?" Moustache said.**

** Edgeworth cleared his throat, unfazed.**

** "The Prosecution wishes to call Bruce Goodman to the stand."**

** Detective Goodman entered the box and stood looking at Edgeworth.**

** "Please state your name and occupation," Edgeworth said.**

** "My name is Bruce Goodman," he said, "I'm a detective in this district. I led the task force assigned to investigate the Honeymoon murders."**

** "Please, detective," Edgeworth said, "tell us what we have going on here."**

** "For the period spanning approximately October through December of last year, we found a dozen young women and adolescent girls murdered in or around the municipal area. All twelve victims were strangled and or garroted and the bodies were found trussed up in wedding dresses and posed—all in a manner consistent with serial exhibitionist murderer—"**

** "Objection," this was from Moustache's assistant, his voice cool almost bored.**

** Everyone glared at the young man.**

** "Is detective Goodman qualified to make such a statement?"**

** "Your honor," Edgeworth said, "Mister Goodman has simply stated the facts of what he saw. The victims were all strangled or garroted and they were posed—"**

** "But he is not qualified himself to say this was a serial exhibitionist murder, no?"**

** "Sustained," the judge said, "When you bring in an expert they can testify about that—for now let's just stick with the facts."**

** "Yes, your honor," Edgeworth glared at the defense before turning back to Goodman, "Detective Goodman, please elaborate for us, about how these twelve victims died and how they were found."**

While Goodman went into details about the murders and the specifics on each victim Miles studied moustache man and his blonde little wunderkind. The man seemed intent on detective Goodman's testimony, but wunderkind was staring back at him, smiling slightly.

When Goodman was finished Miles called Shady K. Rector to the stand. While Rector was led to the box by the bailiff, Miles watched wunderkind lean in toward moustache to share some observation.

"**Please state your name and occupation," Edgeworth said.**

"**Mmm-muh muh my name is Shhhhh…"**

Wunderkind and Moustache were laughing at Rector's stuttering. Now that wasn't very nice at all. Miles didn't move while Rector stumbled through his testimony. Chief Skye was tapping her hands impatiently under the table.

"**Mister Rector, did you hire Kurt Sheinheilig as a programmer for Reformed and Reborn dot com?"**

"**Yyyeh yeh yessss," Rector said.**

"**Did you have any complaint about Mister Sheinheilig's work, while he served as your employee?"**

"**No," Rector said.**

"**Most of the employees for your website were part of your circle of friends, is that correct?"**

"**Yesss," Rector said.**

"**But Mister Sheinheilig was not?"**

"**No," Rector said.**

"**Because you needed an expert in his position, correct?"**

"**Yuh-yesss," Rector said.**

"**Objection, your honor, why isn't the witness explaining this to the court?"**

"**Yes, Edgeworth," the Judge said, "Why don't you let the witness speak for himself."**

**Edgeworth looked at the judge and frowned. He didn't think it was worth it to drag out the trial with Rector's stuttering. It wouldn't be comfortable for the man or the audience. But he wasn't sure how to phrase that without sounding like an asshole.**

**Chief Skye cleared her throat, "Your honor, Mister Rector preferred not to have to speak overly much on the stand. We do have a transcript of his previous testimony if the defense is concerned that Mister Rector is not being properly represented. We were hoping not to drag this trial out longer than it needed to be."**

Chief walked up to the bench and handed over the transcript. The judge took a few minutes to look it over before motioning Mister Moustache to the bench. They had a whispered discussion in which Miles caught the words 'stutter' and 'painfully prolonged testimony'. Moustache left the bench with a little huffiness. The judge tapped his gavel.

"**Objection overruled," the Judge said, "Mister Edgeworth, you may continue."**

Miles finished his line of questioning and looked at the defense. Moustache touched the rat on his lip and stood in front Rector clutching a yellow legal pad to his chest.

"**Mister Rector, what was the nature of this 'Reformed and Reborn dot com?"**

"**It was a ddduh duh dating ssssser ssservice ssss," Rector said.**

"**How long did Sheinheilig work for you?"**

"**Uh uh ab buh about thuh three muh muh months," Rector said.**

"**So you didn't really know him that long did you?"**

"**Objection—argument—" Edgeworth began.**

"**Hang on, kiddo," Moustache said holding up a hand toward Edgeworth, "Would you say that three months is long enough to really know the true character of a person?"**

"**Wuh wuh well—"**

"**Objection! Whether or not Mister Rector can testify to the character of the defendant has no bearing on this case."**

**Edgeworth crossed his arms and glared at the judge.**

"**Yes, um," the Judge said, "I'm inclined to agree with you Edgeworth. But I'm curious to know, what did you think of your employee, Mister Rector?"**

**Edgeworth crossed his arms and tapped his index finger pointedly.**

"**Uh Uh I uh I nnnuh nnuh never really tuh talked tuh to to himmm aside ffff fuh from wuh wuh wuh except for the ffffuh fuh final interview."**

"**The defense has no further questions, your honor," Moustache said.**

**Wunderkind was smiling openly at Edgeworth now. Edgeworth gripped the edge of the prosecution table and then looked at the judge.**

"**Your honor, the prosecution would like to call Frank Steinberg," Edgeworth said.**

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! So, I don't like to beg for reviews, but…**_

_**PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE ME A REVIEW! I WANT SOME FEEDBACK! I'LL DO ANYTHING!**_

_Updates are going to be a little more spread out—not because of the lack of reviews (I don't believe in doing that) But because we are heading into a very dark part of the story and I can only take so much... _


	40. The Shadow of Doubt

**Chapter 40**

**The Shadow of Doubt**

_Miles followed her out of his room. She was very serious, this woman and this morning she was solemn as well. She tried to take his hand as they walked along the tiled corridor—the walls painted with amateur renditions of Winnie-the-Pooh and Toy Story characters—but Miles shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts instead._

_ "Detective Gant is going to take you to see something very important," she told him. Miles only nodded at her. All of this was going so fast and there was so much tumult and change—he'd started to just let everything happen around him. Not that one understood things that way when they were nine years old._

_ "Make sure you mind the nice Detective," she said and then gave Miles a shove between his shoulder blades when he hesitated in approaching the big man._

_ "Good morning, Miles!" The big detective had been the steadiest fixture in his life since he'd awoken in the hospital after the… event… Miles was no longer fazed by the big man's bluff voice or his hulking size._

_ "Hello Detective, sir," Miles said looking up at the big man._

_ The Detective clapped a massive hand over Miles' shoulder—his hand was so large it covered the back of his neck and part of his other shoulder too. Miles crossed his arms and let himself be steered along toward the unmarked police car he'd also grown used to seeing._

_ Miles was just barely large enough to ride without a booster and he still needed the man's help buckling the over-the-shoulder seat belt. When he was settled he sat still and stared at his knees and wringed his little hands. The Detective busied himself in starting the car and navigating out of the orphanage parking lot._

_ "How are you this morning, my boy?" The Detective asked him. The man was looking over the top of his square spectacles. His light brown hair was already starting to show streaks of gray._

_ Miles only shrugged in reply. He wasn't really here. None of this was really happening._

_ Neither of them spoke and eventually the Detective turned on the radio. Miles frowned as he listened to another report of war in a far away place and terrorists lurking in shadows and conspiracy. The world had gone on spinning very well on its own, despite the loss of Gregory Edgeworth._

_ Miles turned his attention to the window when he felt the subtle shift in speed as the car drove up the ramp and onto the highway. It was sunny outside. Miles wished he could play outside—not at the orphanage, but at his friend's house. He didn't mention that to the detective._

_ The car slowed again as it departed the highway and slid down a different ramp to mix in with city traffic. Miles put his hand on the plastic padding under the window and rested his chin on it. He still couldn't tell where there were going. He knew he could just ask the detective, but he didn't feel like talking._

_ They parked in a gravel field near the walled off expanse of green sectioned off with trees and tidy paths. Miles was very familiar with this cemetery. He and Dad used to come here almost every week. Miles glanced once at the detective before unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door._

_ They hadn't brought any flowers. Dad always made sure they brought flowers—but then Dad… Miles tried not to think about it—and he pushed those thoughts out of his head. The detective got out of the car and stood over him looking at the different paths in the big cemetery._

_ "It's over here," Miles said and led the way past the wall and onto a tree lined path. He followed the memory of endless visits and the innumerable steps he'd taken on that path. He turned onto one of the smaller trails that wove between the graves to where he knew his mother was resting._

_ There was a new stone beside hers. The smooth granite was bluish and speckled with light and dark. Miles stared. This made it all come back. He sobbed and clenched his fists at his side._

_ He could read the name even as his tears started to mar his vision. He tried to keep himself still, he didn't want the detective to see him crying. But as the huge racking sobs tore through him the harder he tried to stop them the harder they seemed to fight their way out._

_ The detective hugged Miles against him and Miles grabbed fistfuls of the man's coat and sobbed. Eventually the detective lifted him and hugged him so that Miles could sob into the man's massive shoulder._

_ It was horrible. Miles wasn't sure what was worse—that his father was truly and utterly dead; or that someone else had to see him cry about it like a baby. He didn't know how long he cried, but the man was kind enough not to say a word._

_ When Miles' sobbing started to dissipate, he leaned back in the big man's arms and looked at him directly._

_ "Put me down," Miles told him, "I'm not a little kid."_

_ The man smiled kindly at him, "Oh all right."_

_ They waited a few moments for Miles to steady himself and then turned back toward the main path._

* * *

Miles barely had time to change when he got home from the courthouse. The suit was charcoal gray—black was just a little much for all of this. He rode alone in his Alfa Romeo in the caravan to the cemetery. It was surreal. There were so many cars—including Ernest Armano's obnoxious stretch H2. They were ushered into the parking lot by police officers—as if this was a concert, or a circus.

Miles had trouble finding Franziska in the crowd, and when he did, it was only to learn that there was no way he'd get her alone before the funeral. She met his eye but made no motion to beckon him closer. She'd cut her hair. Those beautiful platinum locks had been hacked off just below the ear. It was tragic. The short hair made her look older too somehow.

He stood back from the crowd—no one seemed too bothered to try and find him—hands in his pockets, his expression impassive. These things were all for show, it seemed.

He watched the coffin as it was lifted from the back of the hearse—he was supposed to be a pallbearer—but suddenly; there were too many others who wanted a claim to the position. Who was he to get in anyone's way? He wasn't even family. Not really.

Miles bit his lip as the procession started to move from the parking lot and snake it's way toward the plot he'd only just managed to find when no one in the family offered to bring him back to Germany. Funny how that worked. He turned away from the group and started up a different path. He'd been meaning to do this for years, but never found the time—he supposed now might be as good a time as any.

No would notice if he wasn't there. He wasn't even family.

He hadn't visited since—well it was longer than fifteen years ago now. The wall was made of stone with wrought iron worked at the top and a gate of intricately formed iron painted black. Just like it had always been.

It was sunny and the trees that lined the path cast swaying shadows along his way so that the sunlight flashed as he walked under them. He turned off of the main path and wound past the graves of other people. Some of them had candles or teddy bears or flags or flowers. Some of them looked as if they'd never been visited. The flowers on his mother's grave had long since decayed, but the vase—one that he'd picked out as a small boy—still stood stoically on the stone. His father was buried beside her.

Miles stared at the stones solemnly. Birds were chirping in the trees nearby and he felt guilty. He clenched and unclenched his fists inside his pocket. He stood there staring for several minutes before he pulled off his sunglasses and shoved them into his pocket. He frowned at the formal, neatly carved monuments. The name EDGEWORTH carved into the smooth granite.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he said low—though there was no one nearby to hear him, "But I don't really feel… I don't really feel sad anymore." I don't really feel…

Miles' noticed it then, and his eyes narrowed. A large flat rock—slightly larger than his hand—with another flat rock stacked on it. It was set on the base of his father's gravestone so that it was near the center between his parent's graves. The placement of the rocks was unnatural—not a tumbling of stones in nature—but something set by a person.

Miles stared at it, feeling a creeping sensation wash over him. He felt like he was being watched. Miles lifted his head and looked around—no, he was alone. Finally, he knelt and removed the top rock and then dropped it in the dirt between the headstones. He hesitated and then picked up the second rock and he had to slap his hand down quickly to catch the scrap of paper underneath.

Time and nature had eaten its way along the edges where the rock, flat as it was, did not fully protect it; the paper was yellowed from age and exposure and had the wrinkled appearance of water damage. Miles frowned at it and turned it over in his hand.

It was a business card for Edgeworth Law Offices. Something was penciled on the back of the card, but it was too faded to read. Miles crumpled it in his hand and started to walk back toward the main path. What kind of sick joke was this?

Even with his substantial detour, Miles arrived while the coffin was still being lowered into the ground. He crossed his arms and stood there in the periphery until the group had started walking in single file past the grave to drop a handful of soil and in some cases a note or a flower into the grave. Franziska and her mother were at the front of the line. Diana gave him a dark look as she walked past him toward the parking lot. She was trying to stop her, but Franziska pulled away and went to her little brother.

She stopped and looked up at him with her icy glare. He smirked a little and motioned at her hair.

"A little tragic isn't it?"

"Mama hates it," Franziska said.

Miles nodded. That was as good a reason as any, he supposed.

"Can I ride with you?"

Miles nodded again and offered her his arm.

They sat in the car for several minutes as the police escort directed traffic out of the cemetery. Miles stared at the sky above the steering wheel. Franziska was playing on her phone.

"Miles," she said without looking up, "Why didn't you stay for the funeral?"

"I…" he said and stopped to think, "I guess I felt out of place. I'm… I'm not really family."

Franziska put her phone down and glared at him, "You're my family. You're my only REAL family."

Miles only cocked his head to watch the traffic flow from the window, but he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You're going to the house though, right? Everyone's going there to commiserate."

"Isn't that what they've been doing all week?"

Franziska hesitated and then she laughed, "Yes, I suppose they have."

"All of that arguing… Copious amounts of beer and beet salad…"

"You're awful Miles," Franziska said.

"Yes, but that's why you love me," he quipped and immediately wished he hadn't. Her eyes locked on his face—the cold blue glare melting into a sweet longing.

"Oh look, we can go," Miles said and started the car.

He focused on navigating them out of the cemetery's overflow parking and then cutting around the rest of the traffic and getting on the highway ahead of the crowd.

"Miles!" Franziska was grabbing the seat for dear life as he maneuvered through the heavy traffic. He barely spared her a glance.

As they left the city the traffic thinned and the drive was much more calm. Somehow, Miles had managed to beat everyone to the house and it made him grin. Franziska only crossed her arms and glared at him. He dropped her there, at the front door and drove around the back of the large estate building. He rolled into the estate's garage, as he expected the drive to be crowded when everyone else got in.

"Franziska?" he called when he entered the house several minutes later.

"I'm here," her voice floated down from the next floor. Miles started up the stairs.

**CRACK**

He stopped where he was and felt a cold dread creep over him, "Franziska?"

"Guess what I got today, Miles?"

**CRACK**

"You're not serious…" Miles said.

**CRACK** SNAP!

Franziska stood at the railing and looked down from the loft, she chuckled and gave a small bow, "What better way to punctuate perfection?"

Miles started to back down the stairs—she'll kill me with that—!

**CRACK**SNAP! WOOSH! **CRACK**

She had him cornered, "What do you think little brother? Does it suit me?"

* * *

_Mister Von Karma hovered over his shoulder while he typed up a dissertation contrasting Procedural Law in Germany with the developing court system in Zheng Fa. Franziska's mother was in the house—spending some time with her daughter in a drawing room downstairs. Miles was starting to wish the old man would leave; he couldn't concentrate like this._

_ "She's mad," Mister Von Karma muttered under his breath, "She'll ruin that girl."_

_ Miles made a face and cranked out the page he'd been working on and balled it up—he had to start again. Who still used typewriters like these anyway?_

_ Mister Von Karma was puffing on a pipe of tobacco mixed with some herb Miles didn't want to guess the identity of—something he'd never seen the old man do since he'd lived with him. Miles rubbed his nose and then loaded the typewriter again._

_ '…the ruling house in Zheng Fa. With the change in regime and a move toward modernization Zheng Fa experienced the first—'_

_ "Comma!" Mister Von Karma said in a stinking haze of smoke. He rapped Miles on the temple with his knuckle and mumbled about his stubbornness. Miles frowned and read over what he'd just typed._

_ "Sir, this is correct per the AP style man—"_

_ Mister Von Karma smacked him in his ear—Miles winced. That actually hurt._

_ "Are you training to be a journalist? Perhaps that is more on your level Edgeworth—seeing as most papers are written for a third grade reading level!"_

_ Miles bit his lip and gave the old man a dark sidelong look before removing the page and balling it up. The wastebasket was already full of several like balls of paper—and he was only seven pages into it. Stupid Oxford Comma…_

_ Miles loaded the typewriter again and cranked the page into place while Mister Von Karma paced away from him toward the windows of the study. Miles focused his eyes on his notebook and tapped away at the bulky machine. This typewriter was ancient—it didn't even have a correction strip. That would've made his life so much easier._

_ Eventually he fell back into rhythm and the old man's pacing faded into the background. Miles finished another page and set it with the rest of his dissertation. He was interrupted in reloading the machine by a knock at the door._

_ "Keep going," Mister Von Karma spat at him as he went to speak with the knocker. It was one of the footmen._

_ Miles tapped away pausing only to turn the page in his notebook._

_ "She wants to meet you," Mister Von Karma's voice came out in a croak._

_ He stopped pacing and tamped his pipe and then glared at Miles, "Go see them, you can finish that before dinner."_

_ Miles stood up beside the desk and nodded. He gave Mister Von Karma a small bow before moving to depart the room._

_ "Though why in the world she feels the need to interfere with Edgeworth…" he muttered under his breath._

_ Miles heard him say it as he left the room and glanced at the old man before stepping out of the door. He walked cautiously toward the wide landing at the top of the stairs where both wings met and started down the stairs._

_ "Miles Edgeworth!" Franziska ran out of the drawing room and across the foyer to meet him excitedly on the stairs. She was waving her riding crop in the air._

_ "Brüderchen! Mama wants to meet you!"_

_ She beckoned him with a wave of riding crop and grabbed his hand to tug him down the stairs. Miles pulled back—he wasn't particularly eager to meet this woman—not if Mister Von Karma thought she was mad._

_ When they entered the drawing room, hands clasped together, Miles startled and stopped. Franziska almost tripped, as she'd continued walking and she was holding his hand tightly._

_ "This is the Ejj Vurts?"_

_ She was a severe looking woman with sharply arching eyebrows—it Miles a moment before he realized that they were drawn in. She was tall and thin and wore an incongruously pleasant floral dress made of some thin fabric that seemed to float a little._

_ He was rooted to his spot near the door. He didn't want to get any closer._

_ "Miles! Lass mich gehen!"_

_ Miles released Franziska's hand. He hadn't realized he'd been squeezing her little hand so hard. The woman glared at him. Miles swallowed. But… Where were his manners?_

_ Miles offered a low bow._

_ "Hello, I am Miles Edgeworth."_

_ "This is the boy Manfred found!" She laughed haughtily. Franziska giggled along with her—oblivious to why her mother was laughing._

_ "He is very nice Mama," Franziska said and then waved at him to come closer._

_ Miles swallowed and reluctantly walked toward them. He stopped and stood in front of her and offered his hand._

_ "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said hoping she didn't notice the tremor in his voice._

_ "Ah! Pleasures! Nasty little boy!"_

_ She stood suddenly and grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back into the foyer._

_ "Manfred!"_

_ Miles had no idea what was going on. Franziska came bounding out of the drawing room to watch—she was giggling._

_ "Manfred!"_

* * *

**February 8, 1:24 P.M.**

**District Court**

**Courtroom No. 1**

"**Where were you last Christmas?" Moustache said and glared hard at Albert Sheinheilig.**

"**Objection! Irrelevant," Miles said.**

"**Your honor, the witness's whereabouts do, in fact, have material bearing on this case."**

"**How?" Edgeworth said; he had his arms crossed impatiently.**

"**The prosecution is claiming that my client was busy committing murders all up and down the California coast between October and late December of last year, but if his brother's whereabouts are revealed it might be possible that my client is not the only one who could've killed these women."**

"**Oh, I get it…" the Judge grinned at moustache man, "Overruled. You may answer the question."**

"**Wait," Edgeworth said, "Albert, you don't have to answer the question."**

"**Edgeworth?" the Judge said.**

"**This man has rights before this court, does he not?"**

**Edgeworth leaned forward and glared at the Judge when no one answered him. The Judge started to sweat a little under that stone cold glare.**

"**Uh…" the Judge said.**

**Wunderkind cleared his throat and Edgeworth whipped around to glare at the defense table.**

"**Prosecutor Edgeworth," the young man said—his eyes hidden in the glare of his glasses, "If Albert is innocent of any crime, he shouldn't have any problem testifying. After all, I'm sure the state, more than anyone here, has a stake in finding the real murderer."**

"**Nnnnghh!" Edgeworth struck the table with his fist. The Judge cast a worried look around the court.**

"**Mister Sheinheilig," the Judge said, "Please answer the question."**

**Albert shot Edgeworth a worried glance and then looked at the defense table with a frown. He stared at his hands when he answered the Judge.**

"**Your honor," he said, "I was actually staying with my brother."**

**Edgeworth stared toward the defense table, biting the inside of his lip. The courtroom erupted in chattering and speculation. Beside him Lana Skye cleared her throat.**

"It still doesn't prove that Albert was the killer…" she said leaning toward him.

"No, of course not," Miles said with that sinking feeling in his gut. Something he'd never felt until the first time he'd met Phoenix Wright in court, "They never have to prove anything… We're saddled with the Burden of Proof. All they have to do is throw enough doubt on our case with smoke and mirrors and half-truths…"

"**Your honor," Chief Skye said, "The prosecution would like to motion for a short recess to confer with our witness."**

"**Oh come on," Moustache said, "Can we at least finish our cross examination?"**

"**We'll recess when the defense is finished," the Judge said.**

Miles locked himself in his office when court was adjourned later that afternoon. They'd narrowly escaped another 'Not Guilty'. How could he let this happen? He'd been working so hard.

_Distracted and lazy._

Manfred Von Karma's evil ghost echoed in his head.

I checked everything! Miles paced his office pulling at his hair until it stood out in crazy directions. Good thing he'd gotten rid of all the mirrors in the place.

Think. Think!

Miles stared at the chess set in his office. Gumshoe had gone and arranged all of the pieces into little patterns on the board. Miles paused to set them back in their proper places, so that the red pieces stood poised against the blue across the checkered battlefield. It doesn't matter what you do. Miles rested a finger on the red knight queenside. You haven't won a case since… since—well, since you started losing.

Miles frowned—stop panicking—you idiot!

He sighed aloud and left the pedestal to stare at the cases on the shelves in his office.

Nobody but Kurt Sheinheilig could've have murdered all of those poor girls. You could see it in that small evil smile he had while the Doctor talked about each girl. The ligature marks. The bruises. The descriptions of the reactions they might have had and their struggles against their attacker. It was so stupidly obvious—the guy was a cold-blooded killer.

It was after nine that evening when someone knocked on his door. Miles startled and looked up toward the door from where he was sitting on the clean wood floor of his office and reading through old murder cases. He hesitated before standing slowly to answer it. He had to pause and stretch a little as his body complained at sitting on the hard floor for too long.

He only opened the door a crack—the terror of Gant's attack still hovered in his periphery.

"Who is it?"

"I saw your light on," Winston Payne was standing in the corridor.

"Well," Miles said in an odd mix of relief and annoyance, "It's dark."

"I was just checking. It's very late, and you've been in court since this morning."

"I…" Miles stared at the older man and frowned, "What are you doing here so late?"

"We got that evidence transferal thing coming up. I had some extra work to wrap up."

"Um, Mister Payne," Miles said and opened the door enough for the other man to see him, "Did anyone talk to you about that this year?"

"What do you mean? Everyone is talking about it. It's the same stupid panic every year."

"Yes well, I was wondering if anyone from the police department has come to you directly to… eh… discuss any of the cases that you—"

"No," Payne said, "Why? Did they come to you? You're the high prosecutor—shouldn't you expect that?"

Miles frowned at him. Should he have expected it?

"Well, kid," Payne said, "I'm going home—we don't get paid enough to put in hours like these—well maybe you do… I meant to give you my condolences—for Manfred Von Karma."

"Oh," Miles said, "Yeah. We buried him yesterday."

Payne chuckled at him, "Life's tough without the big guy looking out for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I never expected you to beat my losing streak."

"Now see here," Miles jabbed a finger at Payne, "I haven't lost Honeymoon yet!"

Payne shook his head and tapped his receding hairline, "No, you're right. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves. Good night, kid."

Miles frowned at the other man as he turned to walk toward the elevators. Was he so oblivious to what was happening here? Miles closed his office door and locked it. His phone was buzzing on his desk when he walked back in.

It was Franziska. He stared at the phone glowing on his desk until it stopped buzzing. Fourteen missed calls—wait fourteen? Miles swallowed and picked up his phone and started to thumb through his missed calls. Most of them were from Franziska—a couple from Heidi; one from Wellington at the flat… Miles set his phone back on his desk.

He swept the office with his eyes and then remembered what he was doing. Miles pulled off his jacket and dropped it onto the arm of his sofa and started to unbutton his vest. He dropped that on top of the jacket and started to undo his cravat.

Miles went to retrieve the file he'd been reading and brought it back to the sofa with him.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for Reading! Yay! We're on the homestretch lovely readers! (both of you)**_

_Edgeworth! That's what you get for breaking her riding crop!_

_It's a little weird being on the prosecution side… LOL…_

_First flashback is from after his father's murder but before he was claimed by Von Karma (I just realized that this would've been in early 2002)_

_The Second flashback Miles is 11. Poor kid—typewriters suck._

_You know, I wouldn't be surprised if this guy had PTSD…_

_OMG… Don't mind me… Writing this chapter made me cry…_


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